


Relationship 101

by TapDancin_idiot



Series: How the King of Brooklyn found his prince. [2]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: 1899, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Birthday Fluff, Birthday Presents, Comedy, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dark Past, Dating, Developing Relationship, Drunken Confessions, Emotional Baggage, First Love, Fluff, Gay Newsies, Hurt/Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jack Kelly Being an Idiot, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Smut, Minor Injuries, Minor Original Character(s), Panic Attacks, Pet Names, Plot, Romantic Fluff, Sad and Happy, Secrets, Soft Spot Conlon, Spaghetti, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins-centric, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29635659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TapDancin_idiot/pseuds/TapDancin_idiot
Summary: Now that the strike of 1899 is over, you'd think that the tale would end like that? If you thought that, you're wrong. What if I told you something blossomed during the strike that caused two boys - no - two newsboys to do something that their hearts begged them to do. What if I told you that a relationship was born from the last day of the strike by a King of the roughest borough in all of New York, and a Prince who was an advocate for the Manhattan Union. What if I told you a tale was born from a single kiss? Read more to find out.
Relationships: Racetrack Higgins & Jack Kelly, Racetrack Higgins & Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Spot Conlon & Hot Shot, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Series: How the King of Brooklyn found his prince. [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120262
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	1. And when I’m with you I turn all shades of pink.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers!!
> 
> I know I just finished my last story, but I couldn't resist starting and posting this one. If you're new here, this is a sequel to my previous story (A second Perspective) and technically you don't have to read that to read this, this can be read on its own. Whatever floats your boat. Anyway, I'm glad I'm back, and I hope you enjoy it. (FYI: this takes place a couple days after the strike and the ending.) Anyway, Comments and Kudos are always appreciated, thanks! Bye :D

Spot tapped his fingers against his office desk. He was quietly panicking to himself. It had been days since Spot and Race’s kiss. He reminded himself that Race, hopefully, would be coming any day now, prior to his invitation to meet him. Spot scolded himself that he should’ve said a date and time when they could meet, but there was no turning back now. Spot looked around his office, trying to distract himself from his spiraling mind. Yet, his thoughts still prickled into his distracted state. What would Race and Spot do now that they...kissed each other? What would they do? Would they ignore the incident, or would they act on their choices?

Suddenly Hotshot came through the door, “Hey boss?”

“Yes?” Spot answered, looking up to Hotshot, wondering what he was asking him for.

“Um, Race is here to see you.”

Spot froze, his skin becoming cold but his heart beating with a burning passion.

“Race as in... Manhattan Race?”

Hotshot chuckled, “No, its Harlem Race, who do you think? Is your head screwed on straight boss?”

Spot rolled his eyes, nodding, “Just... send him up.”

“Will do.”

Hotshot left, shutting the door on his way to get Race, leaving Spot with excitement, panic and giddiness. Spot stood up from his chair, pacing the room as he thought about what to say, how to address him. His pacing became quicker, his heart pounding as he waited for Race. He stood by the window, looking out at his city of Brooklyn as he tried to connect with the world. Was this actually happening? 

Yet, the downsides to it all came down on Spot. What if Race was coming to...blackmail him? Spot started to panic. He sat down on his desk, running his fingers threw his hair. He sighed, feeling betrayed and naïve. He didn’t deserve Race as a friend, or even as a crush. The kiss they had done, the act they had committed was wrong - at least, to society it was wrong. Yet it felt so right to Spot. It felt meant to be. 

Suddenly, the door opened and Race appeared through the door. Spot turned his head, connecting his gaze to Race’s. When Hotshot shut the door, they continued to stare like that, both afraid to move, or look away. 

But Spot had the face the reality, that he had to look away. He sat down at the corner of his desk, legs barely hitting the floor as he conjured what to say. He drifted his eyes downwards as he opened his mouth to explain, his body at a profile angle from Race’s stance.

“Race I—” 

Spot was interrupted when Race suddenly walked forward and pressed his lips against Spot’s, cupping his face in the action. Spot was surprised at first, but let it simmer and kissed back when he was relaxed. Spot leaned into Race, his hands moving to Race’s hips. The two kissed long and passionately, neither wanting to break what they had. But again, Spot had to break it. Reluctantly, he pulled away, gently coaxing Race away with his lips. He looked up to Race, cupping his face, feeling how soft his skin was. He drifted his thumb along Race’s cheek. He inhaled and exhaled as he began his sentence.

“Race, I’d love to do this but,” Spot started, “We need to talk business.”

“What business is there to discuss,” Race asked softly, “You like me, right?”

“Yeah, I do,” Spot stated, pushing Race’s hands off his face, “But...we need to figure some things out...like...”

Spot trailed off, moving himself off of his desk so he could be slightly separated from Race. He started up again, “Like...what do we do now?”

Race started to walk around the room, “What do you mean?”

“I mean with us, Racer,” Spot explained anxiously, “W-We both like each other, clearly, but...what should we do about it? Do we continue being friends, do we part ways, do we despise each other now, or do we—”

“Slow down,” Race exclaimed, “This isn’t supposed to be so strategic, Spot.”

“Well then what is it then,” Spot barked, standing up pacing, “What are we supposed to do now?!”

Spot placed his hand on his forehead as he tried to discover this situation. 

“Spotty, you’re over thinking this,” Race explained, calm and collectively. He moved forward to Spot, gently turning him to face him, “Since we both like each other, wouldn’t that mean we would be in a relationship?”

He turned back to face Race, laughing, “You know that I’ve never been in any sort of romantic relationship ever in my life and I-I don’t want to screw this up!” Spot barked at the end. Spot cursed at himself for acting so desperate, but it was Race, sometimes Spot had to be desperate, “You honestly think I’m ready for something like this?”

Race paused for a moment, studying Spot’s face now, “...yeah.”

Spot exhaled as he tilted his head. Race continued, “Spotty, I think you’re more than ready. You aren’t going to screw up. I mean, the fact that you kissed me back and I liked it is evidence that you didn’t screw it up.”

Spot pursed his lips, unsure.

“This is scary alright,” Race reassured, “I’ve never been in a relationship either, and I’m pretty sure it’s pretty easy for a guy and girl to do this. But for us? It’s going to be hard, you know, keeping it a secret and everything, but I believe we want fight for each other, right? I want this to work, and if you need time—”

“I don’t want to wait,” Spot answered. He stood up and grabbed Race’s hand, pulling him closer as he started to talk – no, whisper, “I-I don’t want to screw up your life and reputation. What if somebody finds out and we end up getting arrested or, you end up getting arrested or worse! How would I live with myself?”

“If that happens,” Race started, leaning a little closer into Spot, “I’d just be happy knowing that I’d got to spend a few romantic moments with you. And besides, we’re both really careful and cautious. No one’s going to find out, and if we someone does, you’re a damn good liar, you can conjure something up.”

Spot looked up to him, squeezing his hand, “I want to be with you, so, so bad. But I’m scared about this.”

Race smiled sadly, squeezing his hand back, “Being in a relationship can be scary; frightening at some moments. But, that’s why we have each other, so we can lean and be there. If you really don’t want to do this, then we don’t have too. But, if you want to do this, then...”

Spot sighed, “I want to do it!” Spot raised his voice before lowering his volume, “I really do. Just...are you into this.”

“One Hundred Percent,” Race answered, leaning in to kiss Spot. Unexpectedly, Spot let out a moan feeling delighted when his lips pressed against Race’s. He pushed Race against the wall, kissing him passionately, working his way down to his neck, suckling on the skin as the temptation grew stronger. Race turned his neck away which pulled Spot away.

“Did I do something—”

“No, you didn’t,” Race reassured, “It’s just that I’d prefer if we went a little slower.”

Spot nodded, becoming embarrassed, “Oh, of course, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Race reassured once more.

Spot’s eyes suddenly lit up, “What if we went on a date?”

“What?” Race asked.

“What if we go on a date,” Spot stated, “To...a bar or something like that. Are you free Tuesday?”

Race chuckled nervously, “Um, I-I think so.”

“Perfect,” Spot answered, “I’ll see you there, after selling okay?”

“Okay,” Race stated, chuckling, “I-I guess I’ll see you there.”

Spot chuckled back, “Me too.”

Race smiled, backing away from Spot and gently moving towards the door. But then he stopped, turning around and pulling Spot towards him again, wrapping his hand around Spot’s waist and pulling him closer to him. Spot leaned into the kiss, a smile appearing on his face. 

Race then pulled away, and unexpectedly, in a flirty motion he put his finger on Spot’s nose, booping it lightly before pulling away.

“How long have you been wanting to do that?” Spot asked, dripping of that annoyed tone but, Race knew he was harmless.

Race giggled, “A long time.”

“Bitch.”

Race and Spot laughed together; infectious, lovable laughter that the two’s hearts fluttered with.

“I’ll see you Tuesday,”

“See you Tuesday,” Spot replied, as Race left the office, door clicking shut. 

Tuesday: God, Spot couldn’t wait for Tuesday.


	2. I just wanna make you feel okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race and Spot are about to go on there first date, but, something stops in the way of that...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! I'm back with another chapter!
> 
> Hope you liked the first part of this story, and I hope you will like the second chapter as much as this one. Have a lovely day, comments and kudos are always appreciated. Enjoy :D

“Call or fold?” 

Race hummed, staring at the cards in front of him. He had good cards: a royal flush. Race continued to act on, pretending as if he was confused on what his next move was, when, in reality, he knew he wanted to raise. Race grabbed at the cigar in his mouth, holding it, and let out a puff of smoke. Race hummed again and put his hand down, grabbing the money and shoving it to the middle.

“Raise.”

The boys at the table smirked, ‘ooh’s’ and ‘ahh’s’ coming from the boys. Race smirked, looking up and pulling the cigar out of his mouth. Race smiled and glanced at the boys. The light above the group there, illuminated up their faces. Elmer, Albert, Henry, Crutchie, Jack, and Mush where at the table.

Elmer was going to go next so Race just looked around, studying his opponents. Race looked to Jack and suddenly stopped. He stared at Jack for a second, and suddenly something started to glow around his silhouette. Race tilted his head, his eyes widening as he saw a blue aura illuminated off Jack’s body. Race was marveled. He had never seen something like this. Was this a weird illusion or was he dreaming? Maybe he was tired? Race thought about that, he didn’t seem tired, at least, not as tired during the strike. The strike made him exhausted. He barely slept because he was worrying about Crutchie, Jack, his brothers, Spot, himself, his rent, everything! It’s a wonder he didn’t go insane. 

Race grabbed his cigar, looking down and stopped when he saw his hand, his hand was illuminating too. His hand was orange. Race squinted, why was his hand outlined in the color orange? Race un-squinted, letting his eyes relax, but suddenly his head started to pound, his eyes becoming dizzy. Race felt the room spin as now everyone at the table started to glow. What was happening? Why is everyone colorful and why am I dizzy?

“Race?” Race heard Crutchie’s voice say, “You okay?”

Race looked up to Crutchie and rubbed his eyes, only making the pain worse, “Y-Yeah I’m fine.”

“What?” Jack asked, “What did you say? Race your slurring.”

Race blinked at him and suddenly he felt something coming up his throat. Race stood up, putting his cards down. Race ran over to the open kitchen and grabbed the little trashcan. Race picked it up frantically as he started to dry heave into the bin violently. 

Race felt someone touch his back, rubbing his hand up and down. Every hair on his body stood up and he actually threw up something. Jack, who Race assumed was aiding him, pulled his hand away, letting Race gag. 

Once Race finished, he breathed into the trash can. A hand was slipped onto his forehead. Race felt himself dry heave again but Jack continued to have his hand there, checking if he was warm or not. Race wasn’t warm.

Race looked up, a sharp pain piercing the back of his neck. Race winced, a high pitch ringing in his ear. 

“Jack~” Race whimpered, looking up to him. 

Jack looked to Race’s eyes, seeing how they had now dilated. 

“Come on, Racer,” Jack said, “Let’s get you to bed.”

Race grunted in response, his pounding mind now filling with guilt. Why did it half to be Monday? Tomorrow was his and Spot’s first date. Who knew how long this headache was going to last? Race was brought up the stairs, and into his room. Jack helped him lay down and gently position Race’s head to be propped up. 

Race couldn’t remember much after that, everything just sort of became black. 

Race groaned awake, his head throbbing worse than before. His head was in blinding pain, and his ears rung with that annoying high pitch. Race blinked, opening his eyes, yet immediately recoiled when the light from the window met with Race’s eyes. Race winced and tried to reach for the covers to cover his sensitive eyes. Race sunk into the sheets, trying to just get the throbbing pain to go away.

“Racer,” Race heard Jack say. Race turned to lay on the other side, looking to Jack, “Are you okay?”

“No,” Race slurred pathetically, “I feel like my head is being squeezed.”

Jack hummed, looking up to Albert, “He’s not running a fever, so I don’t know what this is.”

“Could just be a very bad head cold,” Albert thought, “Or maybe just a headache.”

“It’s... not a headache,” Race slurred, “It’s worse than a headache!”

“Okay,” Jack soothed, smoothing Race’s hair down. Race winced as Jack touched his skin, causing Jack to move his hand away. 

Jack continued to talk to Race, “Now, you’re staying here all day till you feel better, yeah? No selling—”

“What no!” Race started, “I have plans.”

“Plans with who?” Albert asked. 

“Long story.” Race slurred, and waved his hand at Albert pathetically.

“Well, I’m sorry Racer,” Jack said, shrugging, “You have to stay here and get better.”

Race grunted and flopped his head gently down on the pillow again. Race shut his eyes and tried to block out the pain, but that only made the pain worse. Race felt his heart ache. Tuesday was supposed to be the start of something amazing, but no, this stupid blinding pain was going to stop him from that.

The day went by and Jack or any of the Manhattan newsies, couldn’t figure out what was going on with Race. Hell, Race didn’t even know what was happening. Everything felt woozy, the light and sun from the window made his skull throb, he felt like he was going to throw up constantly. He couldn’t sleep, so he was forced to have his head covered by a blanket to block the sun, yet, all the hairs on his entire body where standing up, so having anything on him made it worse. He was in a loose loose scenario.

Race was curled on his side, holding his stomach as he stared into the dark blanket. He hated this blinding pain; he didn’t know why he was in this pain. 

Jack had stayed with him today, watching him to make sure he didn’t die or anything. Race had thrown up twice and after the morning selling had finished, boys where coming and the noise was making Race feel worse. 

Jack sat by Race’s side, rubbing his back, which didn’t help Race at all, but Jack was clueless on what to do. Race looked up at the clock in his room, noting the time. He wasn’t going to make it. Race whined, he felt like he was standing up Spot, which in actuality, he wasn’t. 

Thirty minutes pass and Race felt even worse, tears springing to his eyes. Not only was he in physical pain, he’s now in mental pain. He didn’t want to cry, but his heart just twinged and begged Race to cry. 

Jack jolted his head up when he saw Albert in the door way, “Hey someone’s at the door, can you answer it?”

Jack nodded and petted Race’s head one last time before getting up and following Albert to the door. Jack walked to the front door, opening it to reveal Spot standing there, arms folded, back arched. 

“Spot?” Jack started, “What are you doing here?”

“Where’s Racetrack?” Spot spat.

Jack furrowed his eyebrows together, “What’s it matter to you?”

“None of your business,” Spot snarled, “Just... is he here with you?”

“Yes,” Jack nodded. The two became silent, an awkward silent that made Spot boil. Spot fumed, his nose wrinkling upwards. He knew Jack wasn’t that smart, but Spot didn’t think he was this dumb.

“Is he okay?!” Spot snarled.

“Yeah, he’s...” Jack started, recoiling, “Well...”

“Well, what, Kelly?”

“He’s just feeling a bit under the weather,” Jack explained, “It’s nothing serious, or at least, we think so. We don’t even know what’s going on with him.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Spot asked, “God Kelly you’re such an airhead.”

“If you don’t like me that much then you can just leave,” Jack warned, getting Spot to roll his eyes, leaning his arm against the doorframe.

“Look can I just see him?” Spot asked, “I can help him.”

“Ya sure about that?” Albert called from behind Jack.

“Yes actually,” Spot retorted, “I’m good with this stuff. Let me in, Kelly.”

“I don’t know Conlon. I don’t think you being here to help Racer is going to help. Race is okay: he’s feed, he’s had water, he’s been sleeping...sort of.”

“I’m pretty sure the Race I know isn’t a fucking dog,” Spot spat.

Jack closed his eyes, sighing. Jack relatively thought to himself, maybe Spot does have the answer to what’s going on with Race? Maybe Jack should just call a doctor? But right now, if Spot knew, then why waist the money?

Jack caved in, “...why not.”

Spot nodded and moved past Jack towards the stairwell, Jack explaining the details.

“Last night we were playing poker and Race started looking weird, pale face and a lost look in his eyes,” Jack explained, “He threw up and I brought him up here. He says his head’s being squeezed.”

“Any fever?” Spot asked, moving down the hallway.

“No, I’ve checked multiple times,” Jack explained.

Spot hummed and walked into Race’s room. Race looked up to Spot and Spot was taken aback. Race was sweating and he still had that lost look in his eyes. His face was pale and he looked in so much pain, Spot swore that he could feel the pain from where he was standing. 

“Holy shit.”

Jack cleared his throat, causing Spot to turn and look at him, “’Crap.’ I’m sorry. Sheesh,” Spot excused, moving over towards Race and feeling his forehead. Race bit his lip, Spot noting the pain he was in.

“Spotty?” Race slurred, sitting up a little, “Jackie why is he—” 

“He’s going to try and figure out what’s wrong with you,” Jack explained softly, walking over and sitting beside Race, petting his hair back. 

Spot walked forward and put the back of his hand on Race’s forehead. Spot could see the embarrassment in Race’s eyes. Spot could sympathize with Race.

Spot licked his lip, “Racer, how many fingers am I holding up?”

Spot was holding up three fingers and Race took a long time to study Spot’s fingers. Race grunted as he tried to figure out the number. Spot could tell he was working hard to get the right answer but Spot could also tell how much pain he was in by doing that.

“I don’t...” Race slurred.

Spot nodded and stood up straight, knowing his answer.

“Migraine.”

“What?” Jack asked. 

“You’ve never had a migraine?” Spot asked, Spot’s eyes widened when Jack shook his head, “Lucky you.”

“What are migraines?” 

Spot sighed, “Migraines are a bitch. There this thing where you feel your skull is being hit over and over again with a bat. It’s mainly due to stress; my boys have had this before,” Spot explained, never wanting to admit he has more of these migraines than anyone in Brooklyn, “Look, tomorrow you have a long day of selling, why don’t I just watch him?”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Race slurred out, moving his hand up pathetically. 

Spot chuckled, “Sure,” Spot looked to Jack, serious again, “I’ll be here tomorrow.”

“Wait, but how do I take care of him in the meantime?” Jack asked.

“Get him more water and make sure there’s no light in the room,” Spot instructed, “And make sure he gets sleep tonight, because he looks like hell.”

“Are you sure, Spot?” Jack asked. 

“Yes,” Spot agreed, “It’ll help him a lot.”

“Jackie,” Race whined. 

Spot and Jack turned to Race, who looked embarrassed and upset.

Race continued, “I don’t need a babysitter – I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Race” Spot intervened, “You can’t even count three fingers on my hand.”

“But—”

“Kelly can you leave the room?” Spot asked, turning to him with a dead glare, “I’m not asking again!”

“I’m this close to kicking you out, Conlon, I swear—” 

“Jackie~” Race whined. 

Jack looked to Race and softened, nodding. He only faced Race when he said, “I’ll be outside.” And with that, Jack left, the door shutting behind him, leaving Spot and Race alone.

Spot looked to the window and shut the curtain, that’s when Race started to talk.

“Are you mad at me?” Race asked, which got Spot’s head to turn to look at Race.

“Why would you say that?” Spot asked firmly. 

Race winced at how loud Spot’s voice was. But Race continued on, “I thought you would think that I stood you up.”

Spot sat down next to Race petting his hair back, “I’m not mad at you – I was worried. I didn’t think that you would stand me up.”

“I just feel bad,” Race whined.

“Don’t,” Spot whispered, “We can talk more about this tomorrow, okay?”

Race nodded and leaned his head back.

“Get some sleep okay,” Spot said standing up. He quickly pressed his lips softly against Race’s and left the room, Race’s eyes falling ever so slightly. 

Spot then walked past Jack and waved, “Later Kelly.” He then left Manhattan Lodging back across to Brooklyn, knowing that he’d be back in the morning. 

The next day came soon and Race’s migraine still dragged on. Spot came as soon as dawn struck and arrived in Manhattan, leaving Hotshot in charge of his boys for the day.

Spot knocked on the door and Jack let him in and up the stairs. Manhattan newsies watched in awe as the King of Brooklyn walked up the stairs to Race’s room. Internally, Spot was laughing at the newsies fear, it was always amusing to see, but also, it gave him satisfaction.

Spot opened the door to see Albert at Race’s side, draping another wet towel on Race’s forehead. Race looked in pain and Spot sympathized. Spot noted that the room still wasn’t dark enough to give Race some relief, that the curtains that he drew back yesterday where now wide open. Didn’t Jack pay attention?

Albert turned his head and scrunched his nose when he saw Spot. Albert stood up and left the room, going up next to Spot and whispering.

“If you lay a finger on him, I’ll—” 

“You’ll what?” Spot asked smugly, “And besides, I can’t help Racer if I can’t touch him, asshat.”

Albert groaned and left, Spot shutting the door behind him. 

“Don’t be mean to him, please,” Race said weekly, eyes half closed.

Spot turned to him, pursing his lips, “What was I supposed to do?” Spot sighed and sat down next to him, “Are you okay?”

“Peachy,” Race said, closing his eyes.

Spot brushed his hand on Race’s forehead, getting up and shutting the curtain, then grabbing a pillow from the empty bunk in Race’s room and putting it against the window, making the room even darker.

“Is this better?” Spot asked softly, satisfied when Race nodded back, “good.”

“I’m sorry I ruined our first date.”

Spot looked to him, “Hey, don’t beat yourself up,” Spot said, walking back to Race and sitting down next to him, “Migraines happen. I’ve had them before, and they suck.”

“I didn’t know they sucked this bad,” Race whined, “I feel like I’m constantly going to throw up.”

“That’s normal,” Spot explained, pulling the blanket up to Race’s shoulder, “I’ll be right back to get some water, okay?”

Race grunted and Spot was off to find water. The lodging house was empty which calmed Spot, there was no whispers which made Spot at ease. Spot smiled when he found a glass and put it under the faucet. The water filled into the glass and once the glass was full, Spot brought up to Race’s room.

“Here ya go,” Spot said, placing the glass of water onto the side table.

Race hummed and curled in on his side. Spot sighed and looked to Race, feeling unsure of what to do. The only thing he could do was ask questions. 

“Scale of 1-10, what is your pain level?” Spot asked.

“Ten,” Race said, his voice a little wobbly as he said it.

Spot licked his top lip, knowing how Race felt. He remembers, especially when he was with Dagger, he would have a lot of migraines. Hotshot would care for him, but he could sympathize with Race. One thing Hotshot would do to help Spot though, popped into Spot’s mind. If this could help him, this could help Racer.

“Sit up.”

“What?” Race said, turning up to Spot confused.

“Sit up, I can help you,” Spot said, gesturing for Race to sit up. Race obeyed, getting up slowly but surely.

Spot sat down at the beginning of the bed, spreading his legs open, so Race’s back could lean into his chest, his torso against Spot’s thighs, “Lean back.”

Race looked to Spot and started blushing, “Spot, I’m fine.”

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” Spot said, “You said your pain was a ten, I can help with that, so lean back.”

Race grunted and leaned back, his head where Spot’s stomach is. Spot gently took his head and moved his hands to the back of Race’s head.

“I’m just trying something, okay?” Spot warned softly, “Tell me if this helps, and if you’re in any pain, tell me.”

Spot started to move his hands, slowly but surely, behind Race’s ears. He used his thumbs and started to rub small, yet delicate circles behind his ears. Race’s breathing sped up yet softened when Spot went slower. Spot stayed behind his ears for a while, then he eventually moved to Race’s temples. 

“Are you okay?” Spot asked, feeling Race becoming uncomfortable.

“Yes,” Race pleaded, “Please keep going.”

Spot nodded and continued, massaging Race’s scalp. Race’s eyes where shut, face calm as Spot gently soothed Race’s tender scalp

“This is amazing...” Race mumbled.

“Thank Hotshot,” Spot said, continuing his massage. 

Spot did this for a while, looking out in front of him whilst he massaged Race’s scalp. Spot smiled as he looked around the room. It was a nice room. Spot remembers being in rooms with bunks. Now that he has his own private floor, he never got to experience the feeling of being in a bunk dorm room. He missed that. He missed sleeping with his brothers and goofing off in the middle of the night. 

Spot took a deep breath, preparing himself to speak low and quiet, “Racer do you—” 

Spot stopped when he looked down at Race’s face. His eyes where shut and nostrils where flaring and unflaring as he breathed peacefully. Spot smiled and knelt down, kissing Race on the forehead as he got up and helped Race’s head back down on the pillow. Spot draped the blanket over Race’s body, moving the hair out of Race’s face as he stepped away. Spot stood in the middle of the room, staring at Race for a second before leaving the bedroom, letting Race sleep in peace.

Two hours went by and Spot had finished cleaning the kitchen, his OCD couldn’t take how messy it was. Spot was sitting on the couch, fiddling with the tip of his hat, noting that he’d need to fix the back of his and cut off the loose hem, when all of a sudden, his head jolted to the right. Spot’s eyes widened as he saw Race’s sprinting down the exposed second floor to the hallway bathroom, hand covering his mouth. 

Spot stood up quickly and ran up the stairs after Race,

“Racer?” Spot called out, physically wincing when he heard Race heave.

Spot rushed over and stood in the doorframe and saw Race hunched over on the toilet, gagging and throwing up into the toilet bowl in front of him. 

Spot walked in and put his hand on Race’s sore back, rubbing his fingers up and down Race’s spine softly. Spot stood up and looked around the bathroom for a rag. He searched the room until he found it on the edge of the bathtub. Spot grabbed it and twisted it in his fingers when he knelt down again, waiting for Race to stop. 

Race’s gagging calmed down and he looked up to Spot, face flushed and lips wet. Spot whipped Race’s mouth, ignoring Race’s flustered stature. 

“I’m sorry,” Race whispered, grabbing the rag from Spot. Spot didn’t let go.

“Don’t be,” Spot said, moving Race’s hair out the way from his face with his finger, “Migraines suck, okay?”

Spot and Race sat there, staring into each other’s eyes deeply. 

Spot smirked, whispering, “You know, if your breath didn’t stink right now, I’d probably be kissing you.”

Race smiled and laughs left him, his teeth showing as he laughed. Race winced, a smile still on his face as he winced in pain. Spot chuckled back, smiling a toothless grin. 

“I’m going to grab you some water,” Spot said, touching Race’s arm and standing up.

“Wait, Spotty!”

Spot turned around and looked to Race, “Yes?”

“I-I-I just want you to know that I didn’t get a migraine because of the idea of going on a date with you,” Race said, voice small which made Spot’s heart twinge, “I was thinking about last week, and the strike, and Crutchie—”

“Hey, don’t hurt yourself,” Spot said, “And even if you were stressed about our date, that’s a normal emotion to feel, right?”

Race nodded, still feeling guilt in him that he had this stupid migraine.

Spot caught on and knelt down, “Hey,” He said softly, gently grabbing Race’s chin and gently tilting his head up to Spot, “As you said, this is what people in a relationship do, right?”

Race nodded, “Yeah, I know that, but I feel bad.”

“Don’t,” Spot said, “Maybe this migraine was from the universe and the universe was saying to you that, maybe our date wasn’t perfect.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is, maybe the universe thought our first date wasn’t the perfect date for us,” Spot explained, “Does that makes sense?”

“Sure,” Race said, eyes dropping a little lower. 

Spot sighed, leaning forward and smooched Race quick on the lips. Race moaned, leaning forward into Spot’s lips, loving the feeling. Spot pulled away, smiling softly, “Yeah, your breath still stinks.”

Race stuck his tongue out, laughing. 

Spot smiled, “I’ll be right back, sit tight.”

The day went on and eventually Race’s migraine went away after he took another nap. Race woke up feeling refreshed and chipper, so, Race got dressed and went down stairs, cigar twiddling in his fingers. 

“Hey, you feel better?” Spot commented as he leaned against the kitchen counter top, smiling brightly.

“You bet!” Race said.

Spot smiled and walked forward, placing his hands-on Race’s hips, smiling at him.

“You know,” Race wondered, “I was thinking about our date and... maybe we shouldn’t plan anything.”

Spot tilted his head, confused.

Race retorted, “I mean that maybe, me and you just meet at Brooklyn Bridge after selling and me and you can explore Manhattan if you want.”

Spot looked to Race, smirking, his heart swelling with glee. Race continued, “It’s just an idea, we don’t have to do it if you don’t—”

“It’s perfect.”

“Really?” Race asked.

“Absolutely,” Spot said, “The real question is when do we want this date to happen?”

“I’m free tomorrow,” Race offered with a shrug, “Does that work for you?”

Spot smiled and nodded, leaning up and kissing Race tenderly. Both of them melted into each other, both of their heart rates slowing. Race smiled as the two kissed gently on each other. 

Race pulled away though when he heard something that sounded like chatter. 

“Something wrong?” 

“What time is it?” Race asked, looking around the room for the clock. 

“Uh... 12:00?”

“Shit,” Race cursed, “Boys are coming back soon.”

“Oh...” Spot said, “Right! Uh, I’ll go.”

Spot moved away and walked towards the door, “If you need anything you know where to find me—”

Spot was interrupted by another kiss from Race. It was quick yet sweet. Spot smiled and pulled away, deeply looking into Race’s eyes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Race said.

“You too.”


	3. ‘Case talking shit is cheap and we talk a lot of it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot and Race are going on their very first date...but what will they do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Sorry for the long wait for chapter 3, I'm trying to figure out a good pacing system for posting. Anyway, enough with my schedule, hopefully you like this - this was one of my favorites to write, so hopefully you'll like it. Comments and Kudos are always appreciated :)

Race smiled with glee as he left Manhattan Lodging, a skip in his step. Race was jumping out of his skin; he was going on his first date. Race always imagined this day for years when he was younger. Race imagined it with meeting a girl, taking her somewhere nice and elegant, and enjoying her body in his hands. But here he is, doing the exact opposite: taking his best friend out, the two walking around sightseeing and Race enjoying his touch, his smile, his personality, enjoying just... him. To be honest, dating Spot was even better than what dating a girl sounded like. Race remembered a quote Jack told him once about girls, ‘girls are nice, once or twice.’

Race smirked, but boys? They're just right. 

Race got onto the bridge, squinting when the sun came into his eyes. He covered the sun with his hand. Race looked up now, scanning around for Spot. Race’s eyes stopped when they saw Spot standing there, hands in his pockets as he looked out to the water, dressed in his usually style. Spot turned his head, connecting his eyes to Racetrack. Race put his hand down, looking to Spot with a smile. 

Race walked forward and met at Spot’s side, smiling at him.

“Hello,” Spot said awkwardly, his cheeks a slight tint of pink, “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Race said, putting his hands together, “You?”

“I’m doing fine,” Spot said. Spot looked to Race and smiled at him, admiring his Atlantic blue eyes. Spot then pulled out of his gaze and jolted.

“Oh right, I got you something,” Spot said.

Race shook his head, “Oh Spotty, you didn’t have to get anything for me. I don’t need you to waist your money on me.”

“It didn’t cost anything,” Spot excused, pulling the thing out of his pocket, “I got you this.”

Race looked down, smiling when he saw this twig that was probably plucked from a tree, that was aligned with yellow little flowers. The flowers weren’t a mustard yellow, no, it was the color of a light yellow, like a baby yellow. The flowers where soft and delicate, blossomed into full bloom.

“It’s a forsythia,” Spot explained, “There the national flower of Brooklyn, at least, that’s what it says in the papes—”

“I love it.”

Spot smiled, letting Race take the twig with flowers. 

“Yeah, I thought it was nice. I just saw the tree while moving towards the docks after selling and I thought you’d like it—”

“I don’t just like it,” Race defended, “I love it. Thank you.”

“Eh, it’s no big deal,” Spot said, looking away, hands in his pocket. Race put the little twig in his pocket and looked to Spot. 

Spot sighed, “So, what’s the plan?”

“I thought we decided not to have a plan?” Race asked.

Spot snorted, “Right sorry,” Spot said, putting his hands against the railing, “But, what were you thinking on seeing first?”

“Uh, let’s see,” Race thought, “Central Parks not too far from here.”

“That sounds nice,” Spot said, “Nice sights, the zoo’s open.”

“Have you even been to a zoo?” Race asked, turning back into Manhattan, Spot following behind.

“I don’t think so.”

Race smiled, “Oh boy, this is gonna be fun.”

The fifteen-minute walk to central park was very eventful. Spot and Race talked like they had never talked before. Sure, they were close, but now that they were ‘closer’ per say, it only elevated the conversation. 

Spot and Race got to the entrance of central park and looked at each other, not really knowing what to do first.

Spot and Race sat down on a park bench; Spot’s eyes focused on the map that was in his hand. 

“So, judging by this map here, the zoo is down over there to the right, there some good areas just to sit down to the left,” Spot pointed out, “You want to go to the zoo first?”

Race nodded, “I mean, if you want too.”

“I’ve never been to one,” Spot explained, “The only attraction thing I’ve been to is the circus.”

“Well, then come on,” Race said, standing up and grabbing Spot’s wrist, “Let’s go.”

Race dragged Spot over to the zoo, Spot had to correct him once because Race was going the wrong way, but, overall, the two got to the entrance of the zoo. Since they were both under 18 years old (they were 16), they both got to go into the zoo for free. Spot and Race where both delighted by that fact. So, Race grabbed a flier and started to look at the map for animals he and Spot where going to see.

“What do you want to see first, Spotty?” Race asked, “There are lions, monkeys, elephants, reptiles, zebras, bears, red pandas – what the hell is that?”

“Red panda’s sounds like a good start,” Spot pointed out, “You got to build up, right?”

“You’re correct,” Race said, beginning to walk to the left, “There right over here.”

Spot nodded and walked beside Race, “This is nice.”

“I agree,” Race added, “I never imagined that I’d be going out with someone like you.”

“Me neither,” Spot said, “I thought that I’d be with—”

“A girl?” Race interrupted, “Yeah, same here.”

“But you know,” Spot shrugged, stepping up the stairs to the red panda exhibit, “I think you are much better fit.”

Race smiled. Then, Race and Spot went up to the railing. Race leaned forward, looking for the so-called red pandas in the exhibit. Spot was trying to read the writing stamp at the railing.

“Who the hell decided to make the writing so small?” Spot asked. Race smiled, chuckling. 

Race then gasped, “Oh look!” Race pointed his index finger forward, “Down there!”

Spot leaned forward, “Where?”

“Over there,” Race explained, “Where the bottom of the tree is.”

Spot squinted, searching were Race was pointing too. Spot then started to smiled when he found the creature. It looked like a squirrel, like, a big squirrel that was red. It didn’t look like a panda, but Spot really liked the animal. The red panda had the prettiest brown eyes, and the animal was a cute addition to the Central Park Zoo.

“That’s adorable,” Race said, “You see it now, right Spotty?”

“I do,” Spot said, “It looks like an oversized squirrel.”

“In a good way?” Race asked, turning his head to him.

“Oh defiantly,” Spot said, turning to him, “Just I’m curious why it’s called a red panda when it looks like a big red squirrel.”

“You have good questions,” Race pointed out.

“Thanks, I guess?” Spot said, tilting his head, smiling. 

Race chuckled, turning back to the red panda, looking at it, Spot copying him. 

The two stayed at the zoo for a while. Both boys admired the animals and enjoyed the time together. Spot and Race went to see the lions, elephants, birds, monkeys, and much to Race’s dismay, the reptile and bug area. After surviving the reptile and bug exhibit, Race and Spot moved to the exit of the zoo. 

As the two walked out of the zoo, Spot and Race stopped in the middle of the entrance of the zoo. 

Race looked to Spot. 

“So,” Race asked, “What now?”

Spot hummed, looking around, trying to find something to do. Spot eyes stopped scanning when he saw a little ice cream stand. Even though all tough and scary, Spot Conlon had a major sweet tooth. He’s always had it since he was young. It’s like a moth to flame.

“Here,” Spot said, digging into his pocket, “Go get an ice cream for you and me, I’ll pick a spot for us to sit down.” Spot handed Race the money, 5 cents to be exact.

Race knitted his eyebrows, “You like ice cream?”

“I’m not completely sad,” Spot argued, “I’ve had ice cream in my life.”

“I just never thought you were into sweet stuff,” Race theorized, 

“I have a major sweet tooth,” Spot admitted with a chuckle, “And also, if I wasn’t into sweet stuff, I wouldn’t be dating you.”

Race smiled, blushing and chuckling, “That was lame.”

“Was not,” Spot excused, a smile peering onto his face. Then he leaned in and whispered, “I-I-I’m trying to flatter you. Don’t people do that on dates?”

Race snorted and laughed. Race whipped a fake tear from his eye when his laughing had stopped. He looked down at the coins in his hand, “What flavor?”

“Chocolate,” Spot answered, smiling a little. 

Race nodded and left, going over to the stand and ordering. Spot smiled and looked around and caught his eye on the little patch of grass that was facing the lake, a tree right next to it where Spot was planning to sit. Spot smirked, and it’s even better because it has shade, Spot’s favorite. Spot sat down on the soft grass, back to the tree trunk as he stared at the orange sun. 

Spot glanced over to Race, watching as he talked to the vendor. He was smiling so bright, and Spot couldn’t help but melt over that. It was like Spot was in a fairytale. This date, Spot thought to himself, is the most magical thing I’ve ever experienced. 

Race came back over to Spot, holding two ice cream cones in his hand, one strawberry and one chocolate. Race knelt down to Spot and handed the chocolate ice cream cone to Spot.

“Thanks,” Spot thanked. Race nodded, sitting down next to Spot, back against the tree. 

“No problem,” Race said, “I’ll hand you your change when we finish these.”

“Okay,” Spot nodded and started eating, enjoying the cold chocolate subsistence on his tongue.

“So,” Spot started, swallowing the solid down his throat, “Is Mouth still selling with you?”

Race turned to Spot, confused, “Who?”

“Mouth,” Spot repeated, “The tall kid who’s good with words, and he’s with the little kid?”

Race awed, “Oh that’s Davey,” Race corrected, “Yeah yeah, he’s still selling with us. Davey’s selling is mediocre, but Les? Oh, he is a goldmine. He’s raining in the money.”

“Well, he’s young. Younger sells more papes,” Spot explained.

“How much do your littles get?” Race blurted, “Money wise?”

Spot hummed, thinking as Race licked his ice cream.

“Uh, well, per day they get about...” Spot hesitated, “...30 cents...each?”

Race stopped, chocking a little on the cold solid. 

“Wow,” Race said, coughing a little, “That’s, uh, that’s a lot of money.”

Race continued on, adding up the numbers in his head, “How many littles do you have?”

“Fourteen littles, the oldest is eleven,” Spot said, “Youngest is five.”

Race stopped, realizing what Spot just said.

“Five?” Race said breathless. His heart twinged, “That’s so young.”

“Yeah, I know,” Spot said, putting a hand on Race’s forearm to soothe him, “I know it’s young—

“Too young, Spotty,” Race explained, “Why would someone leave a kid that young on the streets to defend themselves? It baffles me.”

“Don’t stress out,” Spot reassured, “Look, my youngest, Chow is his name, is a sweetheart. He’s doing so much better than he was initially when he was alone on the streets. He smiles more, he’s not so thin. He’s a little bundle of happiness, you’d love em.”

“That’s good,” Race said, “Just... I don’t like to imagine kids that are that young who are alone on the streets. It worries me.”

“It’s alright to worry about it,” Spot reassured once again, “I worry about it too.”

The two became quiet, Race feeling a little down all of a sudden. Spot cleared his throat, not wanting this date to be ruined just because of something sad.

“So,” Spot started, “What where you saying before? Fourteen littles, thirty cents?”

Race sighed, smiling sympathetically and continued his calculations, “If each of your littles earn 30 cents each day, and there are fourteen of them...” Race calculated in his head, “That would be four dollars all together. And four dollars times seven days, then you’d be making around twenty...eight dollars per week.”

“Then divide that by 25,” Spot explained, “Because 25% of of their earns go into the savings.”

“So, then that would be...” Race thought, “around seventeen dollars. That’s how much money your littles have all together.”

Spot blinked, impressed by Race’s math skills, “Sheesh, you’re good.”

“Eh, I like numbers,” Race explained, “And card games require some of those math skills.”

“No wonder I’m so bad at them,” Spot explained. Race chuckled. 

“How’s your ice cream?” Race asked. 

Spot nodded, “Good, you?”

“Yeah, mines pretty good,” Race said. Then he held out his cone to Spot, “Do you want a lick?”

Spot blushed, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Race said, gesturing for Spot to take it and lick it. So, Spot did that. After the strawberry ice cream was handed to him, and Spot had tried it, Spot recoiled. 

“Yeah, I don’t like that,” Spot said, couching, handing the ice cream back.

“What?” Race asked, “Why don’t you like my ice cream?”

Spot knitted his eyebrows, smirking, “Because, fruits and sweets don’t add together.”

“You’re such a baby,” Race quipped, laughing.

“Am not!” Spot defended, “I’m just thinking it’s a little weird that someone thought to put something healthy and something sweet together. That’s not the points of sweets, the point of sweets is to eat, and enjoy, not worry if you’re going over your calorie intake.”

Race was laughing hard, which got Spot to smile and blush.

“I thought I was smart,” Race explained, “But sheesh, you top me Spotty.”

Spot laughed, taking a lick of the ice cream he had in front of him. Spot and Race looked out to the sun, Spot and Race admiring the now red and orange sun.

“It’s beautiful out here,” Spot said, leaning his head back against the trunk of the tree.

Race smiled, looking to Spot, admiring his face, his body. 

“Yeah, it is.”

Spot and Race stared at the sun, the two quiet again, letting the love between them grow threw the quiet. Race sighed, a smile on his face. He looked to Spot again. He couldn’t believe he was here. Race thought when he started developing feelings for Spot, Spot would hate him, beat him, expose him – Race always was paranoid like that. Race knew he had to say something to Spot, like, thank him per say. 

“Hey uh...” Race started, blushing a little, “I just wanted to say thank you.”

“For what?” Spot asked, “I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did,” Race objected, “You... you didn’t push me away.”

Spot looked to Race, eyes now serious and intent in listening.

“W-When I started developing feelings for you...” Race continued, “...I never thought that you would accept me, or hell, I never thought you liked me in that way. I was scared that if I told you, you would expose me and make everything in my life miserable. So... thanks for not doing that. Thank you for understanding me and—”

“Racer,” Spot whined, “I’m so happy that where doing this, and even if I wasn’t uh... you know,” Spot suggested, "...then I would never expose you for something you were born with. I’d never do anything, as a friend, to hurt you like that, okay? I’m just so happy that I found someone like me, because I never thought I’d never find someone like me, you know?”

“Yeah,” Race said breathily, “If the world didn’t hate us so much, I’d K-I-S-S you right now,” Race spelled out.

Spot smiled and nodded, “Same here.”

The night ended off swell and Spot ended up walking Race home. The sun had gone away and the moon was now in the sky, the sound of crickets filled the streets of Manhattan.

“That was fun,” Race said, smiling brightly as he walked beside Spot, “Best night of my life.”

“Really the best night?” Spot quipped, “Wow, that’s an award I’m willing to keep.”

Race smiled, “Seriously Spot, it was perfect.”

Spot looked to Race, smiling up at him. Both boys then faced back forward. Race let out a sigh and glanced down to Spot’s hands. His hand where, oh so tempting to hold. Race swallowed down a nervous lump in his throat, should he do it? What if Spot pulls away? Race calmed himself down. Just rip it off like a band aid, right?

Race then quickly grabbed Spot’s hand firmly, his face turning red. The two boys didn’t stop walking, but you could tell Spot and Race where both anxious now. Race held on Spot’s left hand, relaxing his grip a little so he didn’t break Spot’s hand. Then suddenly, Race felt Spot grab onto Race’s hand, his finger intwining with his, not wanting to let go. Spot let out a sigh and smiled. 

They continued to walk, hand in hand and eventually, Spot and Race got to the door. Spot let go off Race’s hand, looking up to him. 

“This is it,” Spot said.

Race smiled, “Hey uh, really quick.”

Spot tilted his head, and Race suddenly pulled him into the alleyway. 

“Racer what are you—” 

Spot then was interrupted by Race’s lips colliding with his. Spot pinned Race against the wall, and the two kissed passionately, the only time they could be physical all night. Spot sighed blissfully as he pressed into the kiss, putting his hand instinctually on Race’s cheek. Race smiled and pulled away, looking to Spot with his eyes gleaming. 

“Thank you,” Race said, “F-For tonight I mean.”

“You’re welcome,” he pulled away and petted Race’s arm up and down once, “I enjoyed this tonight. Do you t-think we can—”

“Oh defiantly!” Race said cheerfully, “Absolutely, we’ll do this again.”

Spot let out a sigh of relief, “Thank god.”

Race smiled, laughing lightly, “So...” He started, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Yeah, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Spot said, blushing a little as he grabbed Race’s hand and kissing his knuckles softly. 

“Fancy,” Race quipped. 

Spot smiled, “Yeah yeah, I know.” Spot then pulled Race out of the alleyway and held onto Race’s hand as long as possible before letting go. 

Race blew Spot a kiss, “See you.”

“See you,”


	4. I wanna be on your tattooed heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race get's to see a new side of Spot Conlon...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! Here is another chapter!
> 
> Quick thing, this chapter is a bit long...just a little bit. Hopefully it's entertaining though, I really like this chapter and I really got to play with Spot's character, and also Race's character. It was really neat to write. 
> 
> Also, we are in need of a celebration!! We're at 100 hits!! Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!! You guys are the best and thanks for clicking this story and reading. It really means a lot. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you again, and enjoy this chapter :D

Race let out a sigh, letting the Brooklyn breeze hit him as he walked down the concrete sidewalk. It had been a good day. It was a good headline, good weather, good people, everything was good. Race couldn’t be happier. 

Race looked down in his hand, counting the coins he earned from sheepshead today: Five nickels, two dime and three penny’s – 48 cents. How could Race not be happy? 

Race grabbed the cigar in his pocket and stuck it in his mouth, watching the clouds as they passed through the orange New York sky. New York is such a beautiful city, personally, Race’s favorite place in New York is Brooklyn. Sure, he loved Manhattan, it was gorgeous. But Brooklyn was far more Race’s style. Being in Brooklyn was Race’s dream, living his elderly days in a Brooklyn apartment. He would tell the stories of him being a Newsie, and the generations of newsies that lived in New York to his children. 

How he loved New York – he never would want to leave. 

Race let out a content sigh, as he turned down an alley way to go to his shortcut. Race continued walking putting his hand in his pockets. Race was looking around, admiring the sights next to him, the ocean for example.

Race looked forward, continuing his trek, but then he stopped when he heard something. Race waited for a second, but continued walking, maybe he was hearing things. But then Race heard it again, he heard some rustling of dirt and someone saying ‘Let me go!’

Race looked around him, the sound was coming from in front of him. Race walked forward and looked into the alleyway, seeing a couple of older guys surrounding some preteen looking kid. The kid looked tall for his age, and wore what looked like what newsies would wear, the newsboy cap making Race confirmed he probably was one of Spot’s boys. Race took a step forward and only noticed more. These guys surrounding this preteen looked big, but they weren’t Spot’s boys, they looked like older men. 

“Go away!” The preteen shouted, “Leave me alone or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Race heard one of the older man hiss, “You gonna hit me, squirt?!”

Race decided to intervene now. Race rather get hurt than some little kid get hurt and Spot having to deal with an emotional kid all night.

“Hey!” Race shouted. The older men turned to look at Race, there eyes now targeting Race now.

“Leave the kid alone!” Race continued, “Don’t hurt him! Pick on someone your own size!”

The older men looked at each other and then charged at Race, beginning their beating sessions. Race fought, he fought really hard and good. Race’s only major injury from the men was his left eye, the only bruise left from his body except for his hands. Eventually, the men grew tired of him and left Race, the bruises on Race’s knuckles starting to form. Race looked to the little kid who was still watching him. Race approached the kid, making sure to grab his cigar off the ground and stick it back in his mouth. 

“You okay kid?” Race asked.

The kid looked at him, his expression now annoyed, “I’m fine. You didn’t need to help me.”

“I was just being nice, kiddo,” Race said with a shrug, “And besides, do you seriously think you could’ve taken on those guys, they're twice your size.”

“There triple Spot’s size and he could still take em down!” The little snarled.

“That’s because Spot’s has had multiple years of fighting big guys like them,” Race explained.

The little groaned, “For Pete sake, can you just leave me alone?!”

“A simple thank you would’ve been fine,” Race quipped, “Does Spot know you're alone?”

The little folded his arms, not answering the question. Race took that as a no.

“Maybe I should take you home,” Race said, “I don’t think Spot would like that one of his littles—”

That’s when the little snapped.

“I’m not little!” He shouted, causing Race to stumble back by the sudden explosion with anger. The little stamped his feet, “I’m eleven years old! I should be considered an older kid!”

Race snorted, “You want to know something kiddo?” Race started, “When you stamp your feet and shout like that, I don’t think Spot would let you be an older kid. Do you think Spot would want this attitude representing Brooklyn?”

“Shut up!” The little said, crossing his arms. Race sighed, figuring out what to do internally. Race thought of his options: Either he can stay there and wait for Spot to find them, he could drag the little back to Brooklyn, or to Hotshot, or to Spot. Come to think of it, Race liked the idea of Spot seeing this behavior. Maybe this kid was one of those kids, who didn’t show their true colors around their caregiver?

Race sighed, knowing what he had to do. He walked forward, having no other choice, and he grabbed the little by his wrist and tugged him along out of the alleyway.

“Hey!” The little squirmed, “Stop! Let me go!” 

Race didn’t respond, only thinking happy thoughts to himself as he held the kid’s wrist. He didn’t hold it hard or anything, just hard enough to get the kid moving. 

“Where are you taking me!” The little demanded, “I—”

“You’ll see.”

“Let me go!” The little continued to shout, tugging hard on his hand, trying to get Race to loosen his grip. 

Race just ignored him – Race had littles in Manhattan, and he knew how to handle them. And sure, Race has never handled a fussy little. Usually, his littles are good mannered, happy, innocent and wholesome. And Race was sure that some of Spot’s littles where sweethearts like Manhattan’s where – but this one? Boy, he was a bad apple. 

Race looked up let a good heave of a sigh when he saw Spot standing there. Spot must’ve heard Race and the little behind him because Spot turned his head to the right, to see what all the commotion was about. Spot’s expression suddenly changed when he saw who was coming close to him. He stopped selling and stared down at the scene. He started to approach them.

“Let me go now!” The little shouted, “I said let me go!”

“What the hell is going on here?” Spot asked firmly, looking up to Race with eye of furry. 

Race was confused, did Spot seriously think Race did something to his little?

“I found one of your littles cornered in an alley, I was just trying to help him,” Race explained, “He’s being fussy, so I brought him to you because I didn’t know what to do and he yelling at me and—OW!” Race stopped, pulling his hand away. He looked at his left wrist and all of a sudden saw teeth marks embedded into his skin.

The little had bitten him.

The little walked past Race, nudging him roughly as he walked past. But this little had one thing coming; he forgot Spot was there. The little stopped when he bumped into Spot’s chest, Spot’s arms folded and his expression was a thing of nightmares.

“Did you just fucking bite him?” Spot snarled, “Did you just—”

“He wasn’t letting go of me!” The little snapped.

“He wouldn’t be holding onto you if you were acting more of your age!” Spot barked, “Sharky, I thought you’d be more mature than this.”

Race snorted, “Clearly he’s not,”

“Not now, Racer.”

The little shook his head, “Wait a minute, this asshole gets to make comments like that, and you don’t punish him?!”

Spot laughed, “You’re really feeding the fire, kid,” Spot snarled, leaning up to him.

“I wouldn’t know much about that,” The little started, “But I’m sure you do!”

“Enough about me!” Spot barked, “Here’s the difference between you and Racetrack. Racetrack is responsible and acts him fucking age – that’s why he’s the second of Manhattan! And you are eleven years old going on a toddler, so I suggest you act your age, or I can treat you like how I treat Chow! What do you think?!”

“Fuck you, Spot!” 

Spot leaned back, letting the kid walk past him. He needed to cool down. Spot watched as he left, running to god knows where. 

“Sheesh,” Race started, “That was pretty heated.”

Spot turned to Race and remembered about his hand. He grabbed his hand, examining his wrist on where the little had bit him.

“Damn he got you good,” Spot commented. Race could tell Spot felt bad, so Race put his other hand to cover his wrist.

“I’m fine,” Race said, “I’ve been bit before, it’s all good, it just surprised me.”

“I tell all my littles, even my older boys,” Spot explained, still not bringing his gaze to Race, “Never bite anyone unless absolutely necessary.”

“Hey don’t stress out,” Race explained, “He was just getting angry and wanted me to not grab him. It’s my own fault he bit me.”

Spot pursed his lips together, “Yeah but—”

“No Spotty, listen,” Race said, “I’m fine. What matters to me is that, your kid is not hurt.”

Spot sighed, licking his lips, now noticing the other injuries starting to form on his face, his eye being the perfect example. Spot didn’t bring it up, though, no longer in the spirit too. Spot then turned behind him and looked out, pondering. 

“Sharky has always been a snarky kid, but he’s been getting more and more moody lately,” Spot vented, “I’m just assuming it’s because he’s growing up and dealing with all those growing up issues, but I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” Race said, pursing his lips. It all suddenly became awkward between the two and Race, always wanting to fix stuff up, started to take his adrenaline and put into killing the awkward silence.

“You finished selling?” Race asked, getting Spot to look up and stare at Race. Race got a good look at his eyes, those deep chocolate eyes. Race loved his eyes, it was one of the best things about him – other than his freckles, personality, kindness, protectiveness, arms, legs, the list could go on. Race knew that the thought he was having was quick, but he never wanted to stop looking into those beautiful dark chocolate eyes. 

“No,” Spot answered, Race drifting away from his wonders. Spot continued, “I have one more paper.”

Race smiled, “Give it here.”

Race waved the paper around, getting into the selling mood, “Extra Extra! San Francisco shook by an earthquake, you heard it right here folks! You know you want to read it!” 

Suddenly a young woman came up to Race and silently handed him a dime, giving him a wink as she grabbed the paper seductively. Race smiled anxiously and watched as she walked away.

Spot snickered, watching Race as he flustered up. Spot bit his lip, trying to hold back more audible laughter as Race’s face turned pink. Spot so badly wanted to scream ‘he’s taken’ to the women who flirted with him, but would people suspect? Either way, seeing Race fluster over a girl who flirted with him made Spot laugh.

“I think you got yourself a date, Racer,” Spot cackled. 

“I’m already taken,” Race pointed out with a cheeky smirk. 

Spot smiled and laughed, causing Race to smile. Spot’s laugh was beautiful, it was a perfect mesh of giggles and cackles. It fit him perfectly. 

Race smiled and put his hand on his shoulder, smiling at him and staring into his eyes once more, before walking past him.

“Well,” Race said, “I’m gonna go.”

“Wait what?” Spot asked.

“I have to go, Spotty,” Race said, “I’m sorry, just Jackie probably is worrying about me.”

Spot scoffed, “Oh come on, Jack’s a big guy, he can handle you being gone for a couple hours.”

“What are you suggesting, Spot?” Race asked.

“Um, how about,” Spot started, getting ready for the big reveal that he was going to say.

“How about you spend the evening with me?”

“What?” Race asked with a chuckle. 

“Come on,” Spot said, jabbing his arm, “Come home with me to Brooklyn. You don’t have to spend the night if you don’t want too, but we can hang out,” Spot than stepped closer to Race, whispering in his ear, “Lover to lover.”

Race smiled, giggling lightly, “I thought I was the romantic one.”

“Is that a yes?” Spot asked, his eye brows raised playfully. 

“Are you sure Jackie won’t be mad?” Race asked.

“Nah, he’ll be fine,” Spot said, “And if he gets mad, I’ll take the blame.”

Race smiled, “Then sign me up, Spotty!”

Spot took Race home to Brooklyn. Race entered Brooklyn Lodging and Spot instantly changed. Everyone knows Spot Conlon as being this hardheaded person who would soak you if you gave him a weird glance. But Spot at home? With his boys? He changed. 

Spot was playful. 

Spot smiled and laughed; he was human, something Race thought he’d never see. Spot was a cheerful person around Race, but he became even more cheerful and soft especially around his littles. Race could see the glimmer each of the littles eyes when Spot talked to them, except for the one who denied he was little. But besides him, it was adorable, but Race became sad because he realized how old some of these newsies where. 

“Twenty littles, the oldest is eleven. Youngest is five.”

Those words stuck with him. Eleven through five years old – Five. Little kids who sell that young are too young, in Race’s opinion. How can any parent let their child on the streets? Most of Spot’s little, at least, what Race could infer about them, where orphans, no parents to their name. Race was astonished by that. How can these kids who are so kind, and innocent, and Goddamn adorable be here on the streets, having someone else, Spot, take care of them? Race has always vowed to himself, that when he got a kid of his own, he would never abandon it like his parents did to him. He would never put his kid through the streets of Manhattan, because when he was on the streets alone? Bad things happened. Certain people happen to show up and snatch your childhood away – that’s what Snyder did to Race. Race can’t imagine one of these kids in the refuge, hell he couldn’t imagine how panicked Spot would be if his littles where put into the refuge. Again, how could anyone take their child and through them out to the streets, like they're some dog? It makes Race’s heart crack every time he thinks about this.

Race pulled himself out of his thoughts when Spot finished greeting himself to his littles and older boys, and came over in front of Race. 

“You good?”

Race blinked rapidly, chuckling anxiously, “Yeah, sorry,” Race excused, “I was daydreaming.”

“It’s all good,” Spot excused, gesturing to walk up the stairs with him. Race walked behind Spot as Spot took him up the stairs and to the second floor of Brooklyn Lodging. All there was on the second floor was a long hallway that had doors aligned down it and an open arch way into what looks like a poker room. But alas, Spot took Race up to the third floor. The third floor was a little more open, but not as much. 

Spot grabbed onto the banister beside the stairs, and watched Race finish his trek up the stairs. 

“This is a lot of stairs,” Race pointed out, “No wonder you’re so fit.”

Spot laughed, “Is that a compliment?”

Before Race could retort, Race and Spot turned when a door opened next to Spot. York and Myron appeared from the door. 

“Oh, hey Spot,” Myron said, “How are you?”

Spot shrugged, leaning over the banister, “Fine, how about you two?”

“What’s a Manhattan kid doing here?” York pointed out, ignoring Spot’s question.

“I’m going to rephrase that,” Spot retorted, “Why isn’t a Manhattan kid here?”

Myron sarcastically faked laugh, “Ha ha.”

“But seriously, what is ‘Hattan doing over here?” York asked, facing Spot.

“It’s Race by the way,” Race pipped in, “My names not ‘Hattan, or kid: It’s Racetrack. R-A-C-E-T-R—” 

“Can you shut up?” Spot asked abruptly, his tone not rough or scolding at all – just him. Race smirked and rolled his eyes, grabbing a cigar in his pocket. 

“Anyway,” Spot said, “He’s staying with me for the evening.”

“Why?” York asked.

“Because why not?” Spot said with a shrug, “Why do you ask so many questions?”

“Why don’t you answer any of my questions?” York asked with his one eyebrow raised. 

“Okay, I think that’s enough,” Myron said, wrapping his arm around York’s arm. 

Spot rolled his eyes; Myron has always been the mediator.

“Maybe we can set up a poker match, later?” Myron asked innocently, “Poker always fun when ‘Hattan’s around.”

“It’s only fun to you because you are the dealer. You get to watch as ‘Hattan steels all my money!” York pipped in.

Race cleared his throat, “Again, my name is—” 

“Sure, whatever works,” Spot said. He turned to Race, “I mean, do you want too?”

“I’d be fine with it,” Race answered honestly. 

Spot smiled, something that made Race melt, “Okay. Let’s set up one for later.”

“Will do, your majesty,” Myron quipped, dragging York down the steps. Race moved out of the way, York giving him a glance, like he was thinking. Race shrugged and went up to the top of the banister next to Spot. 

“That was close,” Race whispered, looking to Spot. Spot chuckled, looking down. 

“Yeah, that was,” Spot said, rubbing his hand back at his neck.

“Also, why don’t they know my name?” Race asked, turning to face Spot.

“Myron and York choose not to know your name,” Spot explained. Race wanted to lecture but Spot put his hand up to stop him, “I know. Their just doofus’s, Race, don’t worry about them.”

Race sighed and decided to take Spot’s hand and escort him up, and Spot happily followed. 

Race took Spot to his room and shut the door behind Spot. Race turned to Spot as he pressed himself against the door, Spot eyeing him up and down. 

“So...” Race started, “What do we do now?”

“That’s a good question,” Spot said coyly, “I don’t know.”

“York was right,” Race said, stepping forward, “You’re really bad at answering questions.”

Spot took a step forward also, “Oh, am I now?”

Race took another step, putting a finger against Spot’s jaw, “You know, I should do something about that?”

“What are you going to do then?” Spot flirted, now only standing a few inches from his face, lips so tempting for Spot.

“Well, I don’t know,” Race teased, removing his finger from Spot’s chin, “I could kiss you, I could not. I could wait for a very long time till I kiss you; maybe I’ll take a nap or read a book, or get a snack...” Race continued, walking past Spot, “Oh, here’s an idea, maybe I’ll wait for you to kiss me until after the poker match with York and My—”

Race was interrupted by Spot pressing his lips onto Race’s. Race sighed with delight. 

“Thank god,” Race said, pulling away as Spot continued to go on kissing, “I thought you’d never interrupt—”

Spot turned Race’s jaw to him, and snarled, “Stop fucking talking.”

Spot pressed his lips against Race’s again, moans leaving the two. Spot then slammed Race against the wall, Race giggling a little at Spot being roughed around. Race’s giggling stopped as the kissing became harder and more irresistible. Spot then guided Race to the bed, letting Race sit and Spot stood next to him, hands up his face as the two made out. Both their heart rates had accelerated up, and the two muted out everything, only focusing on the connection they made. It was powerful, it was intense, it was romantic. Spot or Race never expected to have this feeing, but they do now, and Spot or Race never expected how good this would be together. Kissing a girl always sounds like a dream, but turns out, kissing a guy is even better—

“Spot?”

Race and Spot pulled away. Spot let out bitter sigh and walked over towards the door, due to his and Race’s dismay. 

He opened the door with annoyance, Hotshot was on the other side of the door.

“What?” Spot asked, his tone rough. 

“I just came in here to check in you,” Hotshot admitted, “You don’t need to be all cranky about it.”

“You’re not my mom, Hotshot,” Spot retorted, letting Hotshot into his room. Spot moved to lean against the wall, arms folded. 

“I know that, but I am your friend. I was calling for you for the last ten minutes – I thought you passed out, Boss. It’s getting hotter and hotter out there, and I was worried. You know how weird I get when you...” Hotshot had stopped his rant when he and turned his head to see Race on the bed, “Oh...hi Race.”

“Hi,” Race said anxiously, waving his hand up.

“What is he doing here?” Hotshot asked. 

Race looked to Spot, hoping his lying skills would be good.

Thank god they were.

“Sharky got caught up in a fight and Race helped him; Race decided to take him to me, Sharky got mad, bit him—”

“Holy shit,” Hotshot said, long and prolonged. He turned to Race, “Let me see.”

Race stuck out his left hand, and Hotshot grabbed onto his wrist gratefully, Race holding back a winced as he touched the sensitive area. 

“Damnit Sharky,” Hotshot muttered to himself as he touched the wound, “What the hell is going on with him?”

“I don’t know,” Spot answered, “I can’t talk to him because I’m the one he’s mad at.”

“We can figure this out,” Hotshot reassured, not to Spot but to himself, “Sharky’s probably going through some rough patch.”

Spot shrugged, “But when will this rough patch stop?”

Hotshot continued to ramble on, still holding onto Race’s wrist and examining it as he talked. Spot was listening, but also, he overheard something, it sounded like rustling from downstairs. Spot thought he was hearing things so he tuned it out, but the rustling and chanting came from downstairs. 

“Wait stop,” Spot said, “Just be quiet for a second.”

“What is it, Spot?” Race asked. 

“Just shush for a minute!”

Spot listened intently, and only the chanting became worse. Spot left his room, Race and Hotshot following behind him. Spot rushed down the three flights of stairs and came down to the bottom floor. In the stairwell corridor of the first floor was Sharky and another one of his littles. They were fighting and all the other littles where around him, chanting ‘fight!’

“Hey!” Spot boomed, walking forward and separating the two apart with his hands, “Enough! What the hell is wrong with you two?!”

“Spot I’m sorry,” The eight-year-old little started, her big eyes filling with regret and guilt, “I didn’t mean to, I was—”

“Shut up, Bugsy,” Sharky barked, “You where the one who started the whole thing!”

“No, I didn’t I was—” 

“Shut it!” Spot yelled, “Both of you!”

Spot sighed, looking to Bugsy, face soft and delicate, “What happened?”

“Oh wow, Spot,” Sharky snarled, “You choose to talk to her – a fucking baby over me?!”

“Really?” Spot asked, turning to Sharky, “She’s the baby here?”

“Yes!” Sharky barked.

Spot groaned, “Look kid, cut the attitude. It’s ugly.”

“I’ve had it up to hear with you today!” Spot continued, his voice getting louder. Hotshot pull Bugsy away from the toxic situation, “You have been acting like shit. Everyone around here is doing everything to help you, but you giving us bullshit!”

“Shut up, Spot!” Sharky screamed, “Just leave me alone.”

“Oh kid, trust me, I wish I could leave you alone,” Spot admitted bitterly, “But I’m not leaving you alone. You need to listen to me – I am the leader and you don’t get to tell me what I should do and don’t! And you are a little—”

“I’m not little!” Sharky shouted and walked past Spot towards the door and left. Spot walked after him.

“You get back here this instance!” Spot called after him, “Sharky stop!” 

Sharky was too far gone. Spot banged his head against the wall next to the door, shutting it in defeat.

Race, along with all the middle-aged littles watched Spot trying to calm his anger down. Race walked forward and the littles looked to Race.

“Um, maybe you should go upstairs.”

The littles shrugged and sighed and obeyed, going past Race and up the stairs. 

Race looked up and saw Spot watching him, watching how good he was. Race’s head turned when he heard the musty couch that was a few feet away from Spot, started to rustle. A little kid, a small, tiny, little kid. He had dark brown, almost black hair, and freckles scattered his body head to toe. The little kid had olive green eyes. The little kid got up from the couch and walked over to Spot, hugging his thigh tightly. 

Spot turned around and smiled a little at the sight of the kid. He put his hand down and ruffled his hair softly. 

“Go with the others, kiddo,” Spot reassured softly. The kid nodded and ran off past Race, looking at Spot one last time before heading up the stairs one step at a time.

Spot looked to Race and sighed. Spot’s gaze went from Race’s face to Race’s left hand. Spot pursed his lips.

“I really should fix up your wrist, huh?” Spot quipped, and Race nodded.

“I’ll meet you upstairs,” Race explained. Race then obeyed what he said and he walked up to Spot’s room. Race got onto the second floor and saw the little kid that had hugged Spot’s calf, trying to reach the door knob for a door. He looked even smaller now, at least, that’s what Race could see.

Too young though, Race thought, too young. 

Race walked forward, voice calm and smile bright.

“Hey Buddy,” Race said, voice high and soft, “Do you need help there?”

The little kid looked to Race, his eyes wide and Race couldn’t tell if the kid was scared or just neutral. Race stayed calmed, not wanting to scare the little guy. Yet, Race thought maybe his smiling would scare him? Would his smile scare him? Either way, the kid nodded and Race helped him open the door. 

“Thank you,” The kid said with that classic childish lisp which made Race smile softly at him. 

“No problem.” Race then left the second floor and made it to Spot’s suite, sitting on Spot’s bed patiently as he waited for Spot. Race’s mind began to think; think about Sharky and Spot. Race never knew Spot worked so hard, day in and day out. Everyone saw him as this... rough and tough guy that will mess with you, but not only does Spot have to deal with his reputation, but also, he has to stay on top of it all the time. He always has to come off as being fine, always coming off as being responsible. That must give Spot a lot of pressure; the pressure to be perfect. If you really think about Spot’s character deeply, you’d see Spot as being this person who is all fine on the outside, but honestly a mental wreck on the inside. Race was being silly, he told himself, Spot wasn’t a mental wreck, at least, that’s what he thought? But either way, Race felt guilt serge him. Spot works so hard for everyone, and he always has to be perfect for everyone. Sure, Race compromised, all newsies have that where they say there fine when there not actually fine, but...

Maybe he shouldn’t be here. Maybe he can come over another day. 

Race was about to stand up but Spot came up and in threw the door, bandages and a bottle of disinfect in hand. He placed the stuff down next to Race and grabbed his wrist, eyes focused on the injury

Spot grabbed the disinfect bottle and wrapped the cloth around Race’s hand, making sure nothing could drop off onto his clothes. Race knew the liquid was going to sting him, so Race internally prepared for the stinging, yet, when it came it felt like it stung much worse than he anticipated. 

“Shit,” Race hissed, biting down on his lip hard, trying to find something else to focus on, and biting his lip was that option.

“Sorry,” Spot said, gently touching the sensitive skin, petting it softly, his fingertips warm on Race’s skin.

“No Spot, don’t...” Race trailed off his pleading. He wanted to shrink in on himself.

“What?” Spot asked, looking up, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Race denied, but then retorted, “I just...I-I...I saw you down there and felt bad.”

“Why?” Spot asked, taking the cloth and whipping the liquid away. He chuckled, “You don’t need to feel bad for me.”

“You just work so hard, Spotty,” Race explained, then snarled, “And everyone gives you bullshit for that.”

“I know that, Higgins,” Spot snapped, not expecting for Race’s last name to slip out like that, but it did. Spot looked down. Not wanting to answer anything more. That only made Race’s chest tighten with worry.

“I’m sorry,” Race said, “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“It’s okay,” Spot said, brushing his thumb delicately over the bite marks, “It’s not my first-time hearing that.”

Spot leaned forward and kissed Race on the lips softly. Race was entranced, but groaned when he pulled away too quickly. 

“I’m okay,” Spot reassured, “Really.”

Race didn’t believe that but he didn’t push it. The only this he did push was his face, and his lips onto Spot’s. He pulled away, and he started to delicately grab Spot’s hand, kissing his knuckles which made Spot’s smile grow. 

Race pulled his lips away when Race heard a knock on the door. Spot sighed disappointingly, and turned to Race, shrugging. Spot stood up and kissed Race quickly on the lips and walked towards the door. He opened it to see Hotshot again. 

“Hey Boss,” Hotshot started, “Bugsy wants to talk to you. Are you okay with that?”

Spot looked to Race, then back to Hotshot, “Yeah I’m okay with it. You can send her in.”

“Do you want me to head out then?” Race asked.

Before Spot could answer, Hotshot intervened, “You can chill with me ‘Hattan.”

Race looked to Spot, giving him a look of reassurance, and Spot nodded. So, Race got up and followed Hotshot out of the room, leaving Spot, the door still ajar. 

Hotshot left Race to go find Bugsy. Race stayed there, looking down at his hand that was semi wrapped. Only after a few seconds of Hotshot disappearing, he reappeared with a newsie by his side, two braids visible from the back of the (her?) cap.

Spot looked up and saw Bugsy enter. Hotshot shut the door and left Bugsy standing up against the door, guilt and shame onto her face.

Spot glanced up and down at her before gesturing her to sit. Bugsy was hesitant but, she sat down, the hands in her lap where trembling. Spot took his hand and put it on hers, the little gasped with fear.

“Hey,” Spot soothed, “If you think I’m going to be mad, I’m not. I’m not going to hurt you. Let’s just talk.”

Bugsy let out a calm exhale, Spot still holding onto her little hand, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Spot pulled his hand away, letting the girl compose herself. She took some deep breaths and began, not looking at Spot when she began.

“W-Well, I was reading to Chow on the couch, and Sharky came in to get a glass of water,” She started, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand, “he saw me reading to Chow and he started making a fuss, saying, ‘Oh wow, you’re really fitting in with your own kind,’ and, ‘Way to get a head start of things, sweetheart.’ I-I-I didn’t know what he was talking about, so I asked him. He told me that girls like me shouldn’t be in this business, that, I should be dressing up, playing with dolls, and taking care of the kids like girls do. He also said no girl like me would get far in this business – girls are supposed to be prim and proper, be damsels in distress and not rough and tough and that’s wrong. That got me mad so I got up and told him stop. He didn’t listen and h-he kept telling me that s-selling newspapers is a m-male dominated j-job. He pinned me against the wall and I-I got scared, and h-he kept mocking me s-saying that ‘Girls can’t d-d-defend themselves,’ o-or, ‘Go back to dresses and playing dolls, princess.’ I didn’t l-like t-that, I-I tried Spot, I-I’m sorry. I-I-I shouldn’t h-have s-said anything, t-t-this is a-all m-my f-f-fault...”

The girl started quietly sobbing now, hands covering her eyes as he let out her anger and frustration. 

Spot was appalled and immediately brought the little eight-year-old girl onto his lap, letting her stand on his thighs so she could wrap her arms around his neck. Spot was furious.

“I-I’m sorry,” She said, sniffling now and whipping away her own tears. She inhaled sharply as he continued to cry, “I-I-I h-hate t-this! I-I h-hate that I-I’m a g-girl! W-W-Why a-am I n-not a-a boy!”

“Hey,” Spot mumbled, rubbing his hand up and down her little back, “Kid are you saying you aren’t proud to be a girl?”

“I-I’m not!” Bugsy sobbed, “B-Boys can b-be all rough and t-tough, so w-why can’t a g-girl be rough and t-tough too? W-Why can’t g-girls be tough?! W-Why a-are g-girls expected t-to be all d-doll like, Spot? W-Why?”

Spot turned to Bugsy; her head still buried in Spot’s shoulder. 

“Bugsy, look at me,” Spot instructed. The girl didn’t obey, still digging her head into his shoulder. Spot repeated, “Bugs, come on.”

Bugsy finally turned to look at him, head resting on his shoulder, silent tears falling down her adolescent cheeks. 

“First of all,” Spot started, “What Sharky said to you is not okay, you hear me? It’s ugly, what he said to you, and I’ll have him pay for that, you understand me?”

Bugsy nodded, sniffling as more silent tears fell. 

“Secondly,” Spot started once again, “What do you mean you aren’t proud to be a girl?”

“Boys are the head of everything,” Bugsy whined, “What’s the point of being a girl if you have no rights to be the head too?”

“You are correct that boys are the head,” Spot said, “But what you don’t realize is that girls are the necks that turn the head.”

“What does that m-mean?” 

“It means that girls have more power than boys say you do,” Spot explained, “You’re a tough cookie, kid. Just because you’re a girl doesn’t mean you can’t be a leader? I know a lot of girl leaders—” 

“Name o-one,” Bugsy said pathetically.

“Harlem’s leader’s a girl – a black girl actually,” Spot explained in a matter-of-fact tone. As much as Spot wanted to be sweet, he needed to give Bugsy a lesson, “Arrow is one of the toughest newsies I’ve ever met, and that’s saying a lot, coming from me.”

Bugsy looked to Spot, silent tears falling down, as she listened to Spot’s words. 

She inhaled sharply before continuing, “I-Is my whole life j-just l-leading u-up t-to me getting a-a husband, h-having k-kids, and being a h-house wife for the r-r-rest o-of my l-life?”

Spot ran his fingers along her spine again, feeling soft again, “Kid you’re too young to think about that right now,” Spot reassured, “But do you want to know what you should think about?”

Bugsy sniffled, nodded.

“You should be thinking about how strong you are, and how smart you are,” Spot explained, putting her finger to her chest, “Let me give you an insight on boys. Where very very, very, stupid at that age.”

Bugsy wetly laughed. 

“I’m telling the truth,” Spot said with a chuckle, “Boys are just very—” 

Speaking of boys. Spot looked up when he saw Race enter the room. Spot knitted his eyebrows together. 

“What are you—” 

“Sorry,” Race apologized, “I forget my bandages.”

Spot rolled his eyes, turning to Bugsy with a smile, “See what I mean?”

“What does that supposed to mean?” Race asked. 

“S-Spotty was talking about, h-how boys are stupid,” Bugsy blurted, little tears rolling down her check sparkling in front of Race.

Race smiled and shrugged, “I mean, he’s not wrong.”

“Told you,” Spot said, rubbing her back softly as he looked to Race. 

“What happened?” Race asked, sitting down beside Spot to his right. 

“Sharky was being rude,” Spot explained. 

Spot turned to Bugsy, “On a lighter note,” Spot started, “You are so smart and strong, kid. You can beat up half of your brothers with your eyes closed. Not only are you rough and tough like me, you are also empathic; which is a thing a lot of people don’t have.”

“What does that mean?” Bugsy asked, eyes wide as she listed to Spot’s kind words.

“Empathy is where you put yourself in the others person shoes—” 

“I don’t do that.”

“No,” Spot facepalmed, “Figuratively. Anyway, you can care for people in need. That’s something people can develop, but the people who were born with, are much better at it.”

“Kid, I think you can be leader someday,” Spot answered honestly, “And a way you can get there is by not listening to guys like him, okay? They're just going to tear you down, and you don’t want that, right?”

The girl looked to Spot, so Spot repeated himself, “Right?”

“Yeah,” Bugsy said, pulling herself off Spot’s shoulder. She looked to him, smiling, “Yeah your right.”

“There ya go,” Spot muttered. He fixed her cap and straightened it out for her.

“Thank you, Spot,” Bugsy said, her smiling growing bigger.

“No problem kid,” Spot said, kissing her temple gently, “Now come on, dry your tears kid. Here.”

Spot leaned over to his side table and reached in, grabbing a shiny quarter and handed it to the girl, “Here. Tell Hotshot to rally some of your siblings and go out and get something to eat.”

The girl’s eyes where wide, “Spotty, I can’t take it.”

“Yeah you can,” Spot reassured. He helped the girl off her lap, “Go on kid, do it for me. Get yourself something tasty.”

Spot stood up and the girl hugged him tightly, her arms wrapping around his thighs, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Spot said. And with that, the eight-year-old skipped off, the sadness out her now. Spot smiled, feeling that fulfilling spark fill him. He probably just made her day, and that would make Spot’s day.

“That was...” 

Spot turned to see Race.

Oh right... he’s here.

Race’s face was filled with glee and almost, it was almost a hopeful expression. Race turned to Spot, face filled with happiness and his eyes shimmered.

“Beautiful.”

Spot blushed, rubbing the back of his neck, “Oh well, you know—”

“No Spotty, I’m being serious,” Race said, sitting up and shutting the door, “That was amazing. I never thought you’d be such a... big brother?”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re influencing these kids, Spotty,” Race explained, “It’s like a moth to a flame. There the moths, you’re the flame.”

“Do you know how special you are to those kids?” Race continued on, he was almost babbling at this point, “I-I-I just... I’m so impressed with you. I...” Race walked forward and put his hands against Spot’s waist, Spot let him. Race was searching for words, and Spot noticed and couldn’t help but smile.

“Yes?” Spot put his arms on Race’s shoulders.

Race chuckled. He stared at Spot’s face, and just couldn’t help but be proud that he was dating him. Who knew someone would be so perfect? Even though Race had only been dating him for only a week – he knew this was going to be a special moment in his life, and he’ll remember this moment between the two forever and ever.

“You’re amazing.”

Race and Spot suddenly connected, the two kissing passionately. It was sweet, a wholesome kiss that neither one would forget for as long as they’d both shall live.

Race pulled away and instead of going in for another kiss, he wrapped Spot in a warm hug. Spot was hesitant for a second before wrapping his arms around his waist, Race’s hands on his back. The two stayed like that for a while, eyes closed with content. They never wanted to pull away. If they could hug each other and hold this warm embrace forever, they would’ve.

Who knew a hug would feel so good?


	5. Oh, baby, you should go and love yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race wants to see Spot smile...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helllooo!! Here's another chapter.
> 
> I think I figured out a good posting schedule for now, and I hope I'm going to stick to it. Other than that, thank you for the kudos and comments (where also almost at 200 hits, what the heck?!) Okay, enjoy this chapter...yeah!

Race couldn’t stop thinking sense the morning he got up. His mind was spiraling about yesterday’s situation. Spot worked so hard and Race couldn’t fathom how much work Spot was putting in to his job. I mean, he had too. He had fourteen littles, each of them with their own issues and some of them weren’t being grateful, especially with that Sharky kid. 

His arm still hurt even after the bite, but he couldn’t complain about it because he didn’t want to make Spot feel bad, and also, why should he complain? What was the point. 

Race sighed as he walked home to Manhattan Lodging. He was thinking about Spot; he started to recognize he’s been doing that a lot lately. He had this ambition to do something nice for Spot. But, what could he do that would make Spot smile? To be honest, Spot has smiled a lot around Race, but Race wanted a true surprised smile out of Spot where his cheeks would hurt. Not like a bad kind of hurt, but a happy kind of hurt that he can’t help but smile. He wanted that romantic time, but what could he do to achieve that? 

Then it hit him. An idea popped into his head that he could...cook for Spot. 

Homemade meals are romantic right, Race asked himself. I mean, he would like to have a homemade meal made for him, so why not do that for Spot. He’s worked hard and Race should give him something that will make him happy, because that’s all Race wanted: for Spot to be happy. 

He decided to take a detour and head over to Medda’s Theater. She knew she had off nights and tonight were one of those nights so Medda could possibly, teach him how to cook. It sounded crazy, but he wanted someone to teach him.

Race got to the stage door, knocking on it lightly and waited. When the door swung open to reveal Medda, she gasped, instantly bring Race into her embrace.

“Hey sugar!” Medda replied warmly, “What’re you doing here so late? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Medda,” Race answered politely, “But, I-I need a favor.”

Medda gave Race an inquisitive look, “What kind of favor?”

“Can I come inside?” Race quickly asked before explaining. Medda nodded and guided Race up to her private apartment up above the theater. 

Medda’s apartment had two bedrooms, and two bathrooms, pretty luxurious if Race did say so himself. Her apartment was neat and tidy, but did have some gems of knick-knacks around. She had a lot of her furniture that had a soft color pallet, and it fit the style of the home really well. It was comfortable, like you’re heading over to your mom’s house. Not that Race was referring to Medda as his mother, but she always acted like that for all the newsies. Either way, Medda escorted Race to her pastel pink coach, letting him sit down while Medda took the one across from him.

“You were saying, sugar?”

“Well,” Race started anxiously, “I-I need you to help me with something and I feel like you’re the only one who could do it because I don’t trust Jack in the slightest with this and—"

“Of course, what it is?” Medda asked carefully.

Race sighed, “I need you to help me make a meal.”

Medda blinked, confused, “A... meal?”

“Yeah, like...dinner,” Race explained, “I, um, have special plans with someone and I want to make something special.”

“Why can’t Jack teach you?” Medda asked.

Race sighed, looking down at his knees, “Its complicated.”

Medda hummed. She the stood up, grabbing Race’s hands, “I’ll teach you, sugar. What do you want to make?”

Race grinned, now thinking about what he could make. He didn’t want to make anything to complicated nor to simple. What was the perfect in-between of that? Then, it hit him...

“Spaghetti.”

“You want to make spaghetti?” Medda asked, “How...romantic? Is that the mood you’re going for?”

Race nodded which made Medda smile.

“Alright, follow me to the kitchen, I believe I have some spaghetti noodles,” Medda answered, guiding Race over to the kitchen.

Thirty minutes, and multiple aprons later, Race had finished the noodles. Now, he was moving on to sauce.

“Alright, now that the noodles are doing their thing,” Medda explained, “Would you mind getting the meat out of the fridge for me?”

Race nodded, moving over to the fridge and opening it, scanning it for meat, “Why do we need meat for spaghetti?”

“It’s for the sauce,” Medda answered. Race let out an ‘aw’ to signal confirmation. Medda continued, “You can’t have spaghetti without sauce.”

“Good point,” Race replied, grabbing the meat out of the fridge and handing it to Medda. She guided Race over to the stove, setting up his materials and utensils next to him. She went around behind Race ready to instruct.

“Now, I precut the meat, so all you have to do is move the meat to the pan, simple?” Medda explained. Race nodded, swiftly moving the meat into the pan, “Perfect! Now, take this spoon and start to spread the meat out. After a couple minutes, you can flip the meat over. I don’t think it would be good if you served your special someone a raw piece of meat.”

Race chuckled, “Yeah I don’t think—” Race paused before he said the pronoun. Damn you 1800 beliefs! “—s-she, would like that.”

It became quiet as Race moved the meat to spread it out across the pan. He didn’t like to refer as Spot as a she, but, he had too. What if Medda didn’t believe in stuff like that. What if she saw Race as a sin if that happened? 

Surprisingly, Medda started to chuckle, “Hun, you don’t need to lie.”

Race looked up, acting confused, “W-What?”

“I know it’s a he,” Medda answered softly, “Don’t think I don’t see it.”

“Miss Medda I—”

“I’m not upset,” Medda reassured, grabbing Race’s hand, squeezing it, “I’m happy that you found someone. That’s the best thing anyone could ask for. Here’s what I believe, I don’t care if you’re in love with a guy, or a girl, or anything other than that. As long as your happy and it’s not hurting anyone, you can love whoever you want, okay?”

Race smiled. He then walked forward, wrapping his arms around Medda in a tight warm hug. Medda squeezed him back, a big happy smile on her face.

“Thank you,” he said as he pulled away.

“I won’t tell Jack, alright?” Medda promised once more.

Race beamed, “You’re a saint, Miss Medda.”

“Oh please,” Medda excused, “Now that that’s over with, tell me everything about him! Is he older or younger, is he a newsie? How long have you been dating?”

Race giggled, flipping the meat, satisfied with the sizzling sound, “You’d make a great detective Miss Medda.”

Medda smiled, moving over to dice some vegetables. She spoke, not a touch of firmness in her tone, “Answer my questions.”

“Case in point,” Race added, “Alright alright. Where the same age, we’ve been dating for two weeks, and... he’s a newsie.”

“How interesting,” Medda exclaimed, “What’s his name?”

Race hesitated at first, but then spilled, “...Spot Conlon.”

“Oh!” Medda gasped, “You’re dating royalty, how luxurious.”

Race turned to Medda, “How do you know he’s royalty?”

“Sugar, I know all the newsies gossip,” Medda explained. She quickly changed the subject, clapping her hands excitement, “Is he treating you well?”

“Absolutely,” Race answered, “He’s brought down his first layer of walls; showing me how he can be romantic around to me, and protective to his brothers. But I’m more curious about what else I can peel off of him. I mean, I’ve known him for a long time, and now that where dating, I’m hoping he could trust me and be a little...”

“Vulnerable?” Medda finished.

Race nodded, “Yes.”

“I get that,” Medda commented, reminding Race to flip the meat as he thought outload, “You have to remember Race that for some people it’s harder to be vulnerable and be comfortable around people they care about because they’re scared of how you’ll react, or if you’ll treat them different afterwards. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t try, but be cautious with it.”

“Thanks, Medda,” Race thanked, “I’ll make a note of it.”

The cooking session went on and Race absolutely didn’t burn the sauce. But Race was able to find some good pieces of sauce, and compiled it all in a container. It smelled delicious and made Race’s mouth water. He then said his goodbye’s to Miss Medda and now was onto the next step of his quest to make Spot happy: Sneaking into Brooklyn Lodging.

Race has never snuck into Brooklyn Lodging, but he needed to figure out to get out onto Spot’s balcony. He knew there was a fire escape, but on those fire escapes where windows, and what do windows have the function of? Locking. There was a high possibility that Spot locks his bedroom window. He knew most of the boys were out selling so he probably could mastermind some way to enter the house. 

Race got to Brooklyn Lodging, no sign of newsies anywhere. Perfect, Race said to himself. He looked to the fire escape and started to climb, throwing his bag behind him as he climbed. He got to the first floor and tried the window. Nothing. 

He moved to the second floor, moving his hands towards the window. Thankfully, when Race tugged on it, the window latch opened. Race smiled, feeling victory run through his veins. He climbed through the window, holding onto the bag delicately so the warm meal wouldn’t squish. He looked around at the halls and quickly noticed the stairwell to his right. Race smirked, tip toeing forward to the stairwell. Spot may think this was crazy, but Race was trying to do something nice and it all would be so rewarding when, or if, Spot smiled. If Spot didn’t smile...well, Race really hadn’t thought about that part. 

“Who are you?”

Race froze like a dog that was doing something guilty. He turned around slowly, afraid to see who it was. 

Before him, was a small little boy, no bigger than a toddler. He was clearly one of Spot’s boy’s, judging by the newsies cap and the red shirt. He’s seen him before. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be selling?” Race countered.

“I don’t sell in the evenings,” The little boy said, who Race swore he was around five or so, “What are you doing here, are you Queens?”

“No!” Race assured nervously, holding out his hands, “I-I’m Spot’s friend, I-I’m planning something for him.”

“So... you’re not Queens?” The little boy asked again, a childish lisp coming through.

Race shook his head, “This is going to be our secret. Don’t tell anyone I was here, alright?”

The little boy nodded.

Race smiled, “So... how about you go down to your room and—”

“What’s taking so long, kid” A voice called out, interrupting Race and sending him into a cold sweet.

Race eyed at the little boy, nodding at him to reply accordingly.

“I-I’m coming!

Race smiled, whispering, “Alright, go on. Remember, I wasn’t here.”

Race ran up quietly up the stairs, moving to Spot’s private floor. Once he got past his door, he sighed with relief. He moved over to Spot’s private balcony and instantly was hit by the Brooklyn sunset. It was stunning. The perfect mix of oranges and reds. Spot’s balcony oversaw the docks, and you had the perfect view of the water and the sunset. 

Jack would love it out here. 

Race smiled brightly, feeling the sunset was a sign that something good was going to happen. He stuck his cigar in his mouth, setting down his selling bag filled with food as he searched around. Now he was at step three, prepare the proper setting. Race looked around, this was mainly the final step, and also the hardest step. He now needed to find the things on this balcony deck area to make the scene more romantic. 

Race crossed his fingers, hoping that he’ll successfully complete his mission to make Spot smile. Only time will tell.

Spot got home after a long day of selling, his body growing tired due to all the standing and walking. Spot entered the house, a small grin growing on his face as he saw his boys around each other, having fun and laughing. To see his littles, smile always made Spot smile. 

Spot sighed, moving up towards his private floor, greeting other newsies as he traveled to his floor. Once he got past the door, he threw off his bag, discarding it to the floor. He casually made it over to his bedroom, but then something made him stop.

Something smelled...terrific; tasty. His mind itched for Spot to find the entrancing smell. It was savory, Spot swore he smelled tomato. His mouth watered the more and more he smelled it, and eventually he found the source to where it was. It was coming from his balcony. How strange, Spot never ate out there, he only sat out there when he needed air. Spot furrowed his eyebrows, confused, but decided to take a leap of faith.

That was the best decision he ever made. 

“Oh my...” Spot froze, in shock about the scene around him.

On his balcony was a beautiful romantic dinner scene. There was a small round table with candles on top of it, and on there was a flower in the middle. On the ground where petals of the flower Spot had gotten Race for their first date. And speaking of the devil himself, there was Race, setting the plates down on the table and fixing the chairs. Spot was stunned, slowly looking at the table and the romantic dinner around him. Did Race do this all by himself?

Spot grew a happy, shocked smile. He looked at Race, “What-What is all this?”

“Surprise!” Race squeaked out, “I-I, uh, made you dinner.”

“Dinner?!” Spot gawked, “For me?”

Race walked forward to Spot, grabbing his hand, “Yeah. I realized that we haven’t gone out and eaten food, but because of our situation, I thought it would be easier if I made our own luxury dinner.”

Spot gasped, looking over to the table with the biggest gleaming smile Race has even seen, “Your amazing!” Spot squeezed his hands, excitement flowing off of him like a child at a candy store, “H-How did you do all of this?”

“That’s a story I’ll save for dinner,” Race flirted, kissing Spot’s hand softly as he pulled away, “Now go sit down, I’ll get the food.”

Spot was beaming, and quickly moved down to the sit in the seat, his back facing the sunset, “Your insane, you know that?”

Race rolled his eyes, “I wanted to do something nice, Spotty. Am I not allowed to do that?”

“I’m just...” Spot was speechless, “I-I’m just so impressed with you.”

Race came over, placing the dish down in the center and opening the foil. Somehow, when Race removed the dish topper, steam came out. Race reminded himself that he had to thank Medda for giving him an insulated container.

“Holy shit,” Spot muttered, “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I had a mini lesson,” Race retorted.

Spot chuckled, “Jack taught you?”

“No, Medda Larkin, the greatest star taught me how to cook,” Race explained as he prepared the ladle, “She taught me how to make spaghetti. Spaghetti’s pretty romantic.”

Spot became silent, his face scrunched as he tried not to laugh. Race furrowed his eyebrows, confused, “What?”

“Nothing nothing,” Spot excused, but clearly, he was still trying to hold back his cackling.

“Okay, now I’m getting nervous,” Race announced as he scooped spaghetti and put it onto his plate.

Spot snickered, “Well, um, I don’t need to burst your bubble but I, um...”

Race became nervous as he finished putting the spaghetti on his plate. He prayed that Spot wasn’t allergic. All this work and to find out that Spot was allergic would make Race really upset.

Spot let out a little chuckled, “It’s nothing bad, I promise but I, uh, I think it’s cute that you made spaghetti.”

Race sat down, “Why would you say that?”

Spot scooted forward in his seat, “Well Race. You do know I’m Italian, right?”

Race froze, his cheeks become bright red in an instant. Well, that wasn’t as bad as Spot being allergic. It was almost worse. Race felt his mouth dry, “I-I made spaghetti...f-for an Italian?”

Spot laughed, “Race, it’s okay. I’m not that in touch with my heritage. I just think it’s cute.”

“But I still made spaghetti for an Italian,” Race whined, putting his head in his hands as he became more and more embarrassed. 

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Spot reassured, “I’m only going to tease you everyone now and then about it.”

Race stuck his tongue out at him, causing Spot to laugh. 

Race smiled, leaning forward, “Go on and eat, I don’t want it to get cold.”

Spot smiled, grabbing the fork beside him and spinning the noodles around the fork. Race copied him, the two taking a bite simultaneously. Also, simultaneously, both of the boy’s reaction was in perfect synchronization.

“What the fuck...” Spot gawked, “This is delicious!”

Race hummed delightfully, swallowing his meal down. Spot continued to dig in, his eyes wide with each bite.

“Damn, you should be a chef,” Spot commented.

Race smiled, “It’s all Miss Medda. She’s the real chef here.”

“She’s a quadruple threat,” Spot stated, “She can act, sing, dance, and cook.”

“We should go to one of her shows sometime,” Race said, “I bet she’d let us in for free; maybe even give us a private box!”

“I mean, if it’s free,” Spot quipped, getting Race to giggle. 

The night continued on, and eventually, Race lit the candles as he the sun set sadly. The night was beautiful and it was even more beautiful with Spot’s gorgeous smile lighting up the dark. Spot and Race where on their second serving, and the two knew they’d always remember this night.

Spot was finishing up his laughing when suddenly he became quiet. He twirled his fork around his noodles, a small smile on his face. But Race could feel he was hiding something.

“You okay, Spotty?” Race asked.

Spot hummed, “I-I’m fine, just thinking.”

Race leaned forward, “What’re you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Spot excused with a smile, “I’m just thinking about something we could do.”

“Well, what is it?” Race asked, “I’m up to do anything – nothing absolutely outlandish, but what is it?”

Spot sighed, his cheeks turning a hint of pink, “Um, well, don’t laugh, but this has been on my bucket list for a while.”

Race leaned in, gesturing Spot to continue.

“Well,” Spot said, rubbing his neck awkwardly, “So, I’ve had this idea of an, how do I say this, a-an over glorified kiss.”

Spot grabbed a spaghetti noodle and took it delicately in his hands, “So, you would take one end of the spaghetti noodle, and I’d take the other, and we’d, uh, slowly eat it until we—”

“Connect into a kiss?” Race finished and Spot nodded.

Spot made pursed his lips into an awkward smile, his voice curling up as he became shy, “Yeah.”

“Well,” Race started, “Why don’t we do it?”

“We don’t have to do it if you don’t want too,” Spot denied immediately, completely ignoring Race’s statement. Spot’s face became red, “I-I mean, if your uncomfortable, then I don’t want to do it and—” Spot stopped when Race started scooting his chair towards Spot, moving next to him, “—what are you doing?”

“Let’s do it,” Race said with a smile, “It sounds romantic.”

Race grabbed the spaghetti noddle, biting into the noodle and waited for Spot to take his side. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Spot asked, “It’s really stupid – even for me. If anyone saw this they’d probably get upset.”

“Why would people be upset?” Race asked, “We have stuff we all fantasize about. It’s called being a person, Spotty.”

“Yeah but...” Spot started, then ended up trailing off. Race felt like he should ask, but did he want to ruin this moment? No. Not in the slightest.

“C’mon, Spotty, take your end,” Race said, “It’ll be fun.” trying to keep the situation light and positive. Spot faced flushed to a bright shade of red. Race bit into his end, waiting for Spot to do the same. He was hesitant, and Race sort of understood why. Medda said it all well: “...Some people it’s harder to be vulnerable and be comfortable around people they care about because they’re scared of how you’ll react...”

So, Race stuck to Medda’s words and stayed calm, making Spot feel comfortable. Race grabbed his hand, squeezing it softly to reassure him that no one was going to see and that this was going to be there moment. 

Spot grinned down at his knees before making eye contact with and taking his end of the noodle. 

Race giggled, slowly started to eat the noodle. Spot stumbled, started to chew up over to Race. Spot kept his eyes down at the noodle, as Race stared deeply into his eyes. Then, the time had come when the two’s spaghetti noodle dissolved, leaving Spot and Race’s lips connecting into each other’s. 

Spot smiled, leaning back a little so Race could lean towards him. Spot felt his heart swell, he finally got that off his bucket list. He had made a vow and he was sticking to it; all the Conlon’s stuck to their word. Spot made a note to walk to see his mother in the cemetery.

Suddenly, Race leaned in a little bit more, which caused Spot’s chair to bend, causing Spot to fall off the chair. 

“Oh my god!” Race exclaimed, during Spot’s fall. Spot landed safely, propping himself up by his elbows. 

Race moved over to his side frantic, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Spot had the biggest smile on his face, and laughter left his mouth, infectious, happy laughter that made Race spiral down to the laughing train.

The city of Brooklyn brightened by hearing their King’s laugh, but how would they react when they found out who was laughing with him? In the moment, Spot didn’t really care. The only thing he cared about was his one prince; the boy he had all to himself. 

Spot Conlon was head over heels in love with Racetrack Higgins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During this chapter when I was writing it, I was in between the idea of doing the lady and the tramp spaghetti scene or a food fight, and I went with the spaghetti scene because I'm a hopeless romantic. Anywho, hope you liked it! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


	6. I’ll take the truth over their story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot wants to make Race smile...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Here's another chapter!
> 
> Also...you guys are fast, we're already at 200 hits (and over?!?). Thank you for reading! You guys are the best. Hope you like this chapter, it's kind of wholesome not gonna lie. Anyway, bye bye! Enjoy!

Ever since the spaghetti date, Spot felt the need to surprise Race with a date. But what date would, or should, a king takes his lovely prince too?

Spot wrote in his book, a list spiraling down two pages. Some idea crossed out, some question marks around it. But the more Spot analyzed his options, he hated every single one of them. The more he looked the more he critiqued, and eventually Spot couldn’t take his decisive mind anymore! 

So, he called in reinforcements.

“You said you needed me, boss?”

Spot looked from his book, putting his pencil down in between the pages as Hotshot made his appearance.

“Yes, I need you,” Spot started, “I need some advice.”

Hotshot nodded shutting the door, “Is this about Queens, boss?”

Spot shuffled forward so his legs could dangle over the right side of the bed, “No no, it’s more civil than that.”

Hotshot nodded, sitting down next to Spot, looking at him with interest. Spot began,

“Well,” Spot started, “I-I – Patches, remember that newsie I told you about?”

Hotshot nodded, “Yeah, she’s the Harlem one, right?”

“Right,” Spot lied, “She is trying to surprise this guy on a date, because he surprised her with a date last week. So, she’s trying to figure out what to do and she asked me for some help.”

Hotshot’s face scrunched, “You haven’t dated anyone and she’s asking you for advice.”

Spot chuckled, if only Hotshot knew.

“Well yeah, but I’m helping her,” Spot answered slyly, “I have a few ideas, but I’d like your opinion.”

“Okay,” Hotshot complied, “Fire away, I guess.”

Spot nodded, flipping through his book, “Okay, these are the five I picked that seemed the best,” Spot started, “Okay, number one, going for a walk.”

Hotshot busted out laughing, getting Spot to flinch. Spot watched as Hotshot cackled, like as if he was tickled ferociously and someone wasn’t stopping. Hotshot wheezed, holding his stomach as he recovered, “Oh boss, you’re funny.”

“What?” Spot said with a shrug, feeling his cheeks rise in heat, “I thought it was—”

“Bad?” Hotshot finished, “Oh boy, I’m excited to hear your next four!”

Spot gulped, “Um, okay. The next idea I chose was going out for food, but that is kind of my backfire option—” Spot retorted, “I-I mean, her backfire option. Moving on, uh, another idea was going on a shopping spree.”

Hotshot snickered, “You do realize what job we have right?”

“Yes asshat,” Spot countered, “You know, you aren’t really helping me.”

“I am too!” Hotshot argued, “I’m making it obvious what options you shouldn’t do. Keep going.”

Spot shot him a look before looking back to his list, “Alright, the next idea I have is going to a roller rink.”

Suddenly there was quiet. Hotshot sat in a thinking position. 

Spot growled, angry and bitter, “Sheesh, am I seriously that idiotic that I can’t write anything—”

“It’s not bad,” Hotshot interrupted, “What roller rink where you thinking?”

Spot flustered, looking back down to his book, “Uh, I think the one over near the trollies. They opened a new place their a-and I thought it would be nice.”

“Who knew that you had such good date ideas, boss,” Hotshot exclaimed, “You should go into that field Spot. You’d be a natural.”

“So, you would go with the roller-skating idea,” Spot asked. When Hotshot nodded, Spot circled the idea. He said goodbye to Hotshot, and began to wonder how to do this. How could he fabricate a date at a roller rink? It’s even harder because of what they were. How would he...

Spot got it! He looked to his side drawer and pulled out the one thing he knew that could make this date more special. Quarters.

Race crossed the Brooklyn bridge, confused yet giddy as he re-read the note in his hands: 

Brooklyn Bridge. 6:45.   
SC

Race felt his heart speed up, his lips twisting into a big grin. He had a skip in his step as he approached the Brooklyn bridge, around five minutes early then Spot requested. Yet, Spot being the early bird that he is, he was already there, set and perfect. Race got onto the bridge, sticking the note in his back pocket as he entered the scene. Spot turned his head when Race was in his line of vision, a big cheery smile poured onto his face.

“Hey!” Race called out, moving to be in front of Spot, “You asked for me?”

Spot nodded, “Remember when you made me dinner?”

“Yeah, what about it?” Race asked before his brain caught up to his words. His face recoiled, “Wait, are you planning something, Spotty?”

“What would make you say that?” Spot asked, putting on a suspicious face.

“You’re face says it all, Spotty.”

Spot chuckled, “My face can say a lot of things. My face could show you I’m mad, or not in the mood. Or maybe, I’m just thinking hard?”

“Stop flirting, you big doofus, and give me my surprise,” Race demanded flirtatiously. Spot rolled his eyes, and instructed for Race to shut his eyes. Once done, Spot grabbed his hand and pulled him through the streets of Brooklyn. Race only bumped into a couple of walls every once and a while, but that didn’t stop Spot. He kept holding his hand, guiding Race to the destination. He then helped Race through a door, which completely confused Race on their location.

“How much longer is it?” Race asked, his eyes still shut tightly.

“Only a few more steps,” Spot announced, helping Race with his footing as he guided him down a couple steps. Suddenly, Spot’s grip went away, leaving Race standing by himself.

“Can I open my eyes now?” Race asked. 

“Go right ahead,” Spot said, voice more chipper than he was expecting.

Race opened his eyes and gasped immediately when he caught where he was at. He was at a roller rink, but it was completely empty.

“I rented out the place,” Spot explained before Race could ask, “Took a couple quarters, and I will have to sell soon, but hey, you got to do what you got to do.”

Race’s smile grew as he looked around, amazed by the place, “Y-You rented it?! You’re insane!”

Spot blushed, “Oh, well, you know. I-I wanted to do—”

Race ran forward, flinging his arms around Spot in a tight hug. Race laughed out of shock as he still looked around. He then turned to Spot with a smile, “I-I don’t even know how to skate, I—”

“I can teach you,” Spot reassured, grabbing his hand, “Come on! We have the whole rink all night!”

Spot guided Race to the shoe station, letting Race sit down on the bench as he admired the architecture and this whole date in general. Race didn’t know exactly what to say, but he did know that Spot was a genius. Race was still confused with how Spot rented the whole place out. He knew Spot had a lot of quarters up his imaginary sleeves, but the fact he would have to sell again made Race sad; a bit guilty. Maybe he could sell with Spot to pay him back. But Race felt as if there was more to the story than he was saying.

“Spot—”

“What shoe size are you?” 

Race turned around to Spot, and noticed that he was a little taller than he usually was. Race looked down and noticed Spot was now equipped with a pair of skates. Not going to lie, Race felt himself fluster. 

“N-Nine, I think,” Race answered, drifting his eyes away from Spot’s skates. Spot drifted over with a box, opening it as he slowed down. He knelt down, getting onto his knees as he pulled out the skates and started to untie the laces.

“You don’t have to do that,” Race said, his face flushing pink, “I-I can untie them.”

“Let me be a gentleman,” Spot replied coyly, “Shouldn’t the boyfriend do all the hard task.”

Race smiled, “But you must remember that the fellow boyfriend is able to do things for himself. He admires the attention but he isn’t a damsel in distress.”

“Oh yeah?” Spot said, still taking Race’s ankle and unlacing his boots.

“Yeah!” Race flirted back, leaning it to give Spot a snarky look, “I mean look at me! Do I look like some princess stuck in a tower in a faraway land?”

Spot shrugged, removing both of his shoes, “I mean, you are the King of New York, so...”

“How do you know that?” Race asked, curious to know about where he caught his killer catchphrase.

“I read the paper, dumb ass,” Spot answered, rolling his eyes in a coy fashion, “Don’t think I didn’t see you in the pape.”

“Well, well well, looks like I got a secret admirer,” Race teased, getting Spot to blush as he started to tie the skates onto his feet, “You think I looked pretty in the pape?”

“All of the Manhattan newsies looked sick!” Spot exclaimed, finishing up the laces in a bow, “You guys looked bold. You especially.”

“Aw, did I make your little heart swell?” Race teased, getting Spot to chuckled awkwardly. Spot stood up, extending his hand out for Race to grab it. Race did, letting Spot pull him up into a standing position. That’s when Spot started teaching.

“Okay, now skating is tricky, but if you think about the steps to much, then you’ll spiral,” Spot instructed, “Now, spread your legs, keep them shoulder width apart,” he stated, “Bend your knees a little- okay, not that bent – but, you get what I mean. It’s all in your knees got it.”

“I thought skating didn’t require this many steps.”

Spot grabbed Race’s hand, “Let’s actually get off of the carpet, it’ll be easier once where on the rink.”

Race hesitated, but trusted Spot’s judgment. Spot guided a limp Race over the rink, helping him over towards the wall. 

“Alright, now,” Spot started, moving away from Race so he could demonstrate, “To actually get momentum, you need to push your back foot back, like, you need to brush it.”

Race gave a confused look to Spot, putting his hand against the wall, “O-kay?”

He copied Spot, which caused Spot to smile. 

“Okay, that’s good,” Spot praised, grabbing Race’s hands and slowly moving, “Now keep doing that and you can eventually get faster and gain speed. But, for now, getting the form down is better—”

Spot trailed off when Race moved in front of him, skating faster with happiness dripping off of him like water.

“Holy shit this is amazing!” Race beamed, extending his hand out as he span. Suddenly he lost his balance and fell back, landing hard on his backside. Spot drifted to his side, kneeling down to help a laughing Race.

“Sheesh we both just have slippery feet, now don’t we?” Spot quipped, getting Race to chuckled, grabbing his hand and helping him up. Once he was up, Race held onto Spot’s hand as he continued. Spot liked that; Race holding onto his hand, he meant. Not only did Spot feel secure, but he felt in control. He felt like an adult who was in a loving relationship with a boy he was so smitten with. His smile was bright as the two skated fast, almost as fast as Race’s and Spot’s beating hearts. Suddenly mid-skating, Race decided to try something. He leaped into Spot’s arms, letting his legs wrap around his torso as Spot began to hold him in this straddled position. Spot was able to skate with Race on him for a little while, eventually growing comfortable with Race holding onto Spot like a koala bear. Suddenly Spot stopped in the mid-center of the rink, where a little platform stood with carpet and benches. Spot sat down, readjusting a new found Race in his lap, and suddenly leaned forward and kissed him passionately. The kissed tenderly, their lips connecting like the perfect puzzle piece. Their heads matched perfectly in a heart shape as they made out, letting their romantic side take care of it all.

The two realized that day that maybe...this could actually work.


End file.
